Oh God, Why!
by Evilenko
Summary: Kyle goes to a law-school in New York, leaving Stan sad and lonely. In the mean time, Tweek is at the mental hospital, hoping for Craig to get him out of there, however he's too busy hustling far, far away from Colorado. That is only the beginning to a bunch of shit I've wrote, so prepare your asses to a real long story. Style and some platonic Creek. Cover is by Kinky-Chichi.
1. Stan Marsh

Kyle left off to New York. I already expected that the moment his winter boots touched the airplane's platform I wouldn't be able to help it and tears would fall down my cold-wind-coloured red cheeks with more intensity, but I happened to underestimate the pain of his departure. That wouldn't be the first time we would be so far from each other though. I was well aware of that one time when his parents moved to San Francisco due to that whole hybrid cars thing, or even my overseas trips with the Sea Shepherds. For some reason, however, this particular occasion seemed so much more frightening, like if our distance was about to become everlasting. After I kissed his sweet lips for the last time and let go off his hands (that although covered by those lovely green mittens still felt so warm and cosy) every moment we had spent together so far, during these 19 years, went through my head, making it so, so much more painful.

The whole thing started when his dad finally convinced him that New York's law-school was infinite times better than Denver's. Even though it was a fact, did anybody think about my feelings? No, no one ever does, and although Kyle was also hesitant about leaving at first, as our distance would be equally painful to him, I could do nothing to stop him in the end, and the fact that my boyfriend was about to be 1.779 miles away from me would never cease to be a problem. No doubts left, I was left alone to misery. From this moment on, I gradually lost my interest on most things, like hanging out with Kenny and Cartman, or my Social Work classes at college for instance. I had just started, but it already felt like a living hell. The football trainings were the worst though, not that I was really giving a fuck about it. Obviously everyone was pissed at me, but I wouldn't expect a different reaction from Colorado's most incompetent team, the kind that leaves every single duty to the quarterback, who is, humbly speaking: me, myself and I. As if I didn't have enough problems, it was still my responsibility to put the team on my back! Goddammit, do me a favour and get a life, South Park Cows!

After the, to say the least, disastrous last practise, on which I spent half of the day staring at the empty bleachers were Kyle and I used to make out during our high school breaks, we all hit the showers. I didn't like to stay with the rest of the team, not just because of their homophobic jokes or equally offensive remarks, but for simply hating them guts. Now that Kyle, my only reason to smile at the end of a rough day, was gone, my hatred towards those jackasses grew bigger than ever. I pretended not to hear what they were saying, singing Gaga's "Dance in the Dark" to myself in a frivolous attempt to mask my knowledge regarding their comments about my field performance.

"Like, dude" Clyde started. Donovan was always the first to criticise me, although I never really had any doubts that my position on the team was the reason that motivated his critics, which he made clear by his next words. "He thinks that being the quarterback gives him the right to make the rules! Seriously dude, if you wanna make the rules you should at least follow them yourself, and not fuck the entire team like he's doing!"

Now that was hypocrisy in its highest form. Was it really me the one who was fucking the entire team? During all these years on South Park Cows, I was the only person who kept that shit working. But taking account of anything coming from Donovan wasn't really my style. I disregarded it as if I he hadn't even open his lying dirty mouth.

Obviously, Butters stood up for me. Kinda.

"It's because of Kyle." He explained, showing his usual smile and not really seeming to care much about our team's course. "He misses him."

But Clyde wouldn't be the complete asshole he was without his typical "fuck Kyle, he's not on the team." How many, I wonder, how many miserable times was I forced to listen to these sons of bitches blaming Kyle for my own mistakes? Luckily Cartman didn't attend this one practise, otherwise I'd probably end up kicking their asses one by one. I'm the most patient human being you'll ever meet, until somebody insults my boyfriend, or well, my dog.

It didn't take too long to Kenny to get in the middle of it as well. "Look" he said in a very neutral tune. "I just think they should get used to stay away from each other for a while, this whole thing is bad for us too."

"Or maybe we should just kick him out the team." Donovan wouldn't stop insulting me. If I wasn't so sure his objective on all this was taking my position, I'd start arguing STANd for Something style, however, due to the last events, I remained emotionally incapable of arguing whatever it was.

For some reason, I've always felt better at Kyle's house than at my own, and his distance, somehow, only made it seem like we would be closer from each other that way. Besides the fact that playing video-games with Ike and all the spoiling from his parents was way more pleasant than witnessing the next stupidity my dad had in mind at home. Not that the Broflovski were "cool", in fact, none of that was applicable to adults in South Park, but they were simply more comprehensive than my parents.

"You must understand, Stan." Kyle's dad told me. "It's the best for Kyle, trust me. He loves you as much as you love him, but you need to be more patient." And I knew I had to, but admitting was easier than actually doing it.

Right after that, I went to see Al. I really needed some advice, after all, he's always been there for me, even before I came out, and in Kyle's absence, he would be the one to whom I could tell my secrets without turning them into a problem, but a solution instead. Slave wasn't there when I arrived, apparently he was at a strip club in Denver or something. I had no doubts he was with Craig though. You see, what Al was for me he was for Craig: a tutor on becoming a better person, the difference is that while I was actually becoming a better person, Craig was becoming a better whore. Regarding the subject, I've always knew Slave have never been faithful to Al, but that was none of my business, you know? I wasn't there to get in the middle of their life-long marriage, I mean, they're together since Kyle and I were 9. I suppose they accepted each other no matter what, which apparently includes fucking other guys. Even though, I never really asked him anything about it, nor did he mentioned that kind of stuff during my frequent visits. Mostly, my personal life and problems would always be the main subject, and we'd end up eating ice-cream and watching some shitty musical. Soon I told him about how miserable and depressed I was feeling without Kyle by my side. Al usually gets emotional over my stories, but this time he curiously kept a neutral expression and told me the same as everybody else: to be more patient.

"It's not the first time you're apart, is it Stany? You're 19 now, it's time to get used to be on your own for a while." He said, holding a cigarette over my shoulder. I wasn't bothered by Al's smoking, the only person who pisses me off is Craig, but that's because he's an ass, everything he does is automatically despicable. If Craig smokes a regular cigarette by your side, you'll probably end up in a hospital for intoxication, 'cause that thing will be filled with crystal meth instead. I never had any doubts that was the real content of his cigarettes, as anything coming from that filthy whore is possible. Anyway, Al reminded me of all the times I went to Japan with the Sea Shepherds, or even my PETA reunions outside Colorado. I started then to wonder how Kyle felt every time I left, and even though, he was always able to stand it until I came back. "Besides" he continue "when you see each other again, it's gonna be the best feeling in the world, don't you agree?" Yes, it was the best feeling in the world indeed, as if the pain craved inside my heart was replaced by all the possible love in the entire universe. Every time I was back from a long trip, after so many days at the Pacific seas fighting against those mass murderers japs, I looked into Kyle's eyes and it seemed that it was the first time we were glancing at each other. He always looked more beautiful than when I had left, even though I've always thought it was impossible! Moments like that gave me the absolute surety that Kyle was the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with, and that was also the reason why I liked Al so much. He'd always make me feel better when I was down, and that was like the father I never had, since mine was too much of an r-tard to understand my feelings. In the end, he gave me one and only advice, and it was going dancing until my feet hurt. I did so, and felt incredibly better, not just for the dancing, but because I knew that the moment I held Kyle in my arms again, that would be the best day of our lives so far.

I came back home later than usual, around 5 am. Fortunately my parents slept like rocks, 'cause I was drunk as one. Deep down, I didn't want to become an alcoholic like my dad, but these kind of situation forces me to have as much fun as possible. Back to Denver, I went to my favourite club, it was called "Luxury". Obviously, Craig was the rotten apple of it, but that place was too cool to be ruined by someone like him. He used to pole-dance there every weekend, and the fact that even our friends wanted to fuck him was extremely annoying, but Kyle and I never paid much attention to it. I mean, we weren't there for the strippers, all we wanted was dancing and having fun. Craig wasn't there in this particular night though, so I supposed he was with a client in another area. I found my friends nevertheless, and it was fucking awesome. We had originally met at the PFLAG reunions hosted by Kyle's mom, and that's how I knew they were good people (excepted for their desire to fuck Craig, but hey, nobody's perfect). We chatted about general stuff and I tried my best not to complain about Kyle's absence, which worked perfectly until a third beer made shit get real. They gave me a ride home and there I was, alone in the bed with my head up clouds made of alcohol, even though it doesn't make the slightest sense. I wanted to call Kyle real badly, but I knew that he would be pissed if I woke him up that late just for a drunk facetime, without mentioning the fact that he was probably tired as hell due to the long plane trip. I closed my painful eyes and the next thing I remember is my dad, repeatedly turning the lights on and off right on my face.

"Wake up Stanley! I made breakfast!" he said.

Shit, that meant one thing and one thing only: he had watched Hell's Kitchen the night before. But that wasn't the major problem, since my dad's voice sounded like a Hamas bomb exploding inside my brain, and I really wanted to tell him to fuck off, but couldn't 'cause my head ached too much to even think about getting pissed.

"Does mom know you're watching these shows again?" I muttered slowly, almost in a sick tune. He changed the subject though, which meant that no, she didn't. I wanted to puke so badly when he started to describe that morning's menu, and my hangover only made it worse.

"Come on Stanley!" He went on. "I made it vegetarian just for you!"

Right, the problem about my dad's vegetarian food is that he simply doesn't know how to apply a decent amount of sauce on it. He's capable of using an entire glass of pepper for a single broccoli! I'm still surprised nobody has died yet.

I gave up after 5 minutes. No, I didn't eat his breakfast, I told my mom instead, so that would be her problem and not mine. When I could finally go back to my smooth and cosy bed, my cellphone started to ring and "Poker Face" never sounded as devastating as on that moment. Well, that was until I realised it was Kyle the one who was calling. My migraine magically started to fade and that torturing ringing in my ears was replaced by his sweet voice telling me how much he already missed waking up by my side in the morning.

"The only thing words can describe right now is that hearing your voice brought light back to my life." I told him, but words weren't really enough to say how much I missed Kyle. He told me about New York and it seemed as wonderful as I've always imagined. I could picture the concerts, movies and plays they had there, without even mentioning the museums, probably billion times better than South Park's. But seriously, anywhere is better than this shithole town. Kyle also mentioned his cousin's apartment, that is, where he was staying. According to him, I had to see it with my own eyes, since nothing he would say could possibly describe how big and luxurious it was. Kyle's cousin "Kyle" was rich as fuck, and I don't remember seeing him that often except for some Hanukkah and Purim parties to which he was invited, but I do remember thinking something like "money doesn't always buy coolness" everytime I saw that guy. He wasn't a bad person though, Kyle's entire family has always been very supportive regarding our sexual orientation, and love and respect have always been present in every reunion we've had. That, however, wouldn't ever change the fact that his cousin was a loser.

In the end, I just couldn't hang out the phone. It felt that if I did that, I'd have to wait a thousand years to hear his voice again, but I knew I had to. Kyle was on his way to visit his granddad in New Jersey, and I had to do something about my dad's food before it grew legs. We said our hard goodbyes and after a long discussion on who would hang out first I won and Kyle did so. I texted him right afterwards though. "I miss u already 3" to which he replied something like "I miss u moar ;)"

Later that day, Kenny called me for yet another football practise. I didn't have much to do except watching the Broncos lose another play-off, so I took the invitation, even though it implied I'd have to see those assholes again. When I got there, they were split in groups, basically the same people as usual. Clyde was talking to Token and another kid whose name I'll never know, meanwhile Cartman and Kenny were bullying Butters and other kids walked around the field without a reasonable explanation. I knew Donovan was talking shit about me and it was about time to end this fuckery once for all.

"You gotta problem, Clyde?" I said, picking up his collar, although he was considerably taller than me. "If there's anything wrong you can just leave the fucking team! I can replace you in a blink of an eye!"

Both he and Token smiled sarcastically and then I knew things were about to get tense.

"Yeah, I actually do have a problem, _Asstan_. It's you!" He started to laugh as a mentally r-tard of his kind would. That's when my patience instantly died and my fist and every possible hatred met his uglyass face, just like it had to be done a long time ago. We were soon surrounded by everyone else screaming "fight! fight! fight!" like little kindergartens. That was annoying as fuck and I wanted to leave already, but Butters cut in and saved me from getting my ass kicked by Clyde.

"Fellows, fellows! What kind of attitude is that?" He cried as indignant as possible. "Football is violent by itself. We shouldn't be fighting like this, what kind of team does it? We're supposed to work together!"

Butters's moral lesson was followed by an awkward silence until Donovan's brain finally got back to work, that is, if he even has one.

"He's right you guys, let's save it for the game! Today's practise is gonna be Token, Jason, Kevin and I against Stan, Cartman, Kenny and Butters. Now, let's see who's the better quarterback."

I silently laughed as he pronounced the word "quarterback" with so much conviction. I just couldn't help it and whispered "is it really necessary a game to prove such a thing?" but he was rather too stupid to understand anything I'd ever say.

The minute the game started, Donovan took the quarterback position and I was laughing my ass off in the inside.

"Hey!" I told Cartman and Kenny. "Let's show these assholes their real positions on this team."

However, I wouldn't have predict that Cartman would be stupid enough to run into their side of the field and start to punch Kevin Stoley before I could even give the initial kick.

"Not yet, goddammit!" I shout in vain. Kenny went there and solved the shit up as I requested him to.

The moment Clyde grabbed the ball, everyone jumped on top of him and I found that incredibly hilarious. He would now finally realise the pressure of being the team's quarterback and would never think about stealing my position again. Well, at least he didn't get a boner, right? I mean, not that I ever do, that team is too ugly to cause such an effect on me. Kenny was the better-looking one, but still not attractive enough to make my dick go hard, besides, he fucked women all the time, and the thought of it was disgusting enough to make me puke.

Not gonna lie, I've felt attracted by other guys besides Kyle before, but it happens that I would never fuck them, and that is simply because sex is too intimate, deep and spiritual to have with a random individual just because he's hot. Kyle is the only one I love and always will, and I didn't want to have it with anybody else. The connection we felt while doing it was indescribable and no other person in the universe would be capable of feeling the same way as we do. This is the kind of thing people like Craig will never experience, because he doesn't even remember the name of the guy he fucked the morning after. These thoughts were enough to make me miss Kyle even more and make my heart ache as if it had been stabbed to death, but the show had to go on! I interrupted all the daydreaming and set my mind back to the field. I caught the ball threw by Butters (not that it was ever a hard task to anyone) and showed them all the real meaning of a touchdown, performed by a real quarterback, the kind Clyde would never forget. After the scene repeated itself several times, we finally won the game. There's no need to mention how pissed they got and that deep down I felt bad for splitting up our team like that. But at the same time I felt proud of myself, and the sensation of accomplishing a mission was bigger than any possible regret.

Stanley Randall Marsh, myself, the best quarterback in South Park and no one would dare to say otherwise! I mean, I heard Donovan calling me _Asstan_ once again, but that didn't matter anymore 'cause I won and he lost. Kenny suggested we should celebrate or something, but I knew it was just an excuse for him to get drunk again. The remnants of my hangover, however, didn't allow me to follow him to that filthy straight bar. I told them goodbye and went back home to tell my dad about the practise. For some reason, I really wanted to make him proud, even though he was lame. He's still my dad, you know? And telling him about that day's touchdowns would most likely make him proud as hell. The problem is, his reaction turned out to be way more "proud" than I expected. I mean, I love football, but my dad is really addicted to it. He made it feel like if I had won the fucking Super Bowl!

"You need a trophy, Stanley!" He said while I kept telling him "Dad, it was only practise, with my own team!" but I knew that he wasn't listening to me from the moment I mentioned "touchdown right at Clyde Donovan's face" on.

* * *

**OKAY LADS, has anybody ever read Mysterious Skin? (you know, the book to that Joseph Gordon Levitt film?) so, it's pretty much like that, each chapter will be told by a different character. I love first person because it gets you closer to the character's psychological state. That's the first story I post in here, so I hope you like it. And hey, I'm not American and I don't know bollocks about American football, so don't kill me if there's anything wrong about Stan's vocabulary and stuff!**


	2. Kyle Broflovski

I was tired as hell the moment I arrived at JFK Airport. Not that I wasn't excited about starting college and stuff, but that trip fucked me up harder than Stan on last Valentine's Day. Well, maybe not that hard, but it was pretty exhausting still. First off, the lip service was fucking terrible. Second, I spent the entire trip with a motherfucking kid screaming and sobbing from Colorado to New York. The reason why? No, he wasn't startled, nor sad, he wasn't even a baby for G'd's sake! It was a fucking spoiled kid yelling like that because his parents didn't buy him a Ben 10 toy at the airport. I mean, Ben 10, dude? Like, seriously? If the reason for such a fuss was something decent, a book perhaps? But no, a fucking Ben 10 toy?! No comments right? But things went all right, 'cause I set an 80's rap playlist on my ipod and it turned out to be less torturing than it could have possibly been. I texted Stan immediately as I stepped outside the plane, but he didn't reply right way, which started to get me worried, as I kept imagining my baby was depressed and miserable, until he finally told me he went to see Al and then gave me the relief I so much needed.

I soon found my cousin and his security guards waiting for me. It was a weird sensation and quite a bit uncomfortable. It felt like he was a president or something, I mean, he really was the president of the Bank of New York, but it was still hard to imagine that a few years ago he was the typical stereotype gentiles love to create regarding us, which he still is, but his bank account changed his respectability, to say the least. He asked me about last year's Hanukkah and all that boring stuff distant relatives insist to ask in the absence of an interesting subject. Not because they want to, but for simply not having enough intimacy to think about something else.

He left me at his apartment afterwards. I was really impressed at the first sight, since that place was probably bigger than my own house, and grandly more luxurious as well. But really, the best part was that bed, my good _HaShem_! Goddammit, it was like laying over _Shamayim_ without having to worry about life or any other responsibilities for that matter. I could hardly wait for Stan to come visit me so we would do everything, everywhere, everytime. I have to admit, there were times in my life I'd become extremely sex obsessed. That test they did back in elementary school was right for the wrong reasons, since they only got me that result 'cause I wasn't even paying attention to that horrendous photograph. The problem is, I wanted Stan with all the intensity in the universe on that moment, and you know, jerking off wouldn't help it, I mean, I wanted him, not a plastic dildo! I tried to call his number, even hearing his voice for 5 minutes would settle me down, but since he didn't answer I had to rely on porn. It was bad though, it took me almost an hour to come and it wasn't that much of a big deal.

Soon I tried that bath tub and realised that was the best decision I've took since I've first got in that city. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I would be able to spend such a long time away from my baby, all I could think about was if he would visit me before winter or not. Unsuccessfully, I tried another call, this time to his house, where his mom told me he hadn't returned from football practise. I figured he was probably spending the night at Al's house, which I found out to be untrue when I called him and learned that he had gone to Luxury. For a brief moment, I felt an infinite frustration for not being able to have fun by his side, but then I thought "well, maybe he's just trying to replace the pain that our distance has brought." I felt better to know he wasn't as miserable as I was. My Stan's happiness is actually all I need to be happy myself, so there was nothing to worry about.

Finally, I lied down on that bed made by _HaShem_ himself (I wouldn't be surprised if it truly was) and tried to read some of the books my dad gave me. It was hard concentrating on that stuff when there was so much going on inside my head, and one of those things was the fact that New York had the biggest Jewish community in the United States. Somehow, I felt that I wouldn't be as lonely as I used to on South Park, especially on Christmas time for the other people, for instance. I recall one time when my mom got pissed at Mr. Garrison for saying that "she" was the Jewish Community in South Park, but the thing is that he was actually right. We were, in fact, the only Jews in that town, and it sucked 'cause the synagogue was always empty. I honestly didn't understand the reason why that temple existed, since all the important events took place at the Imanuel Temple in Denver, where Rabbi Schwarz, that is, my uncle, gives his sermons. My bar mitzvah was in Denver as well, not in our Sinai Temple in South Park. Yes, the temple's creator wasn't having his best creativity explosion when he came up with that name. But I knew things weren't going to be like that in New York, my cousin had already mentioned we would be visiting the synagogue the next day. I was truly excited for this moment to come, mainly because my granddad is a holocaust survivor and he was coming with us. I've always felt that I could learn a thing or two from him, you know, someone who really experienced the atrocities, the suffering and pain that disgrace brought to our people. Everytime I heard his stories, I got more and more revolted to know there still are sympathisers to such a monstrous doctrine (in other words, a fat-ass whose name shall not be mentioned), people who have no idea of how much we suffered in the hands of those monsters who called themselves "superior". These are people who'll never understand the pain and destruction they caused to our families, friends, and our chosen Hebrew people all around the entire world, whether they're Orthodox or Reform, we're all Hebrew at heart, and Israel is our home. That was the best lesson I learned from Jewbilee. I also think a lot about my dad's family, who were forced to live in Warsaw Ghetto as prisoners. As most people saw at The Pianist, that was only the beginning of all the inhuman acts the German submitted us to. I don't really like to speak about that subject, but that's the only way for us to get through something we'll never forget or forgive. My final conclusion is simply that I am very much proud to be a Jew and always will, no matter what happens.

The next day, I was ready to see my granddad in New Jersey, but it would be impossible to do so without telling my baby good morning. I gave him a call and thank G'd he answered this time, making it simply, one of the sweetest conversations we've ever had through the phone. Stan wanted to know everything about New York. I haven't seem much more than the way from the airport to my cousins's apartment, but I told him every possible detail I could think of. He mentioned his dad made breakfast that morning or something, but I couldn't pay much attention, and I think that Stan himself realised how he always distracted me when he spoke with that sleepy voice, so, so incredibly sexy. Deep down I knew he did that on purpose, that was the only explanation for that much hotness in only one human being. My cousin soon arrived and ruined the atmosphere though, and that's when we got into the necessary arguing on who would hang out first. Stan won 'cause my duties with _HaShem_ called me with more urgency.

"It's quite a long trip to New Jersey, Kyle." My cousin warned me as we followed his guards way to his BMW. "But it will be worthy when we get there." And I knew it would. The last time I'd seen my mom's relatives was at least four Hanukkahs ago, when they came to South Park to meet Stan. Not that they haven't met before, but we were just kids back then, in Halloween when my grandma died and weird things happened, but saying that something weird happened in South Park is the same as saying that Cartman is fat. On this particular occasion, my granddad decided to go back to New Jersey, and since then, every Schwarz from our family tree lives in the East Coast, except for my mom and her brother. I still wonder though, what makes someone moving from civilisation to the end of the world, that is, New Jersey to South Park. Still, it was too late to remove South Park from history, guess we would have to live with that for all eternity. On the other hand, I remember how happy I was to find out they all had approved my commitment to Stan with so much support. My aunt, cousin Kyle's mom, for instance, had mentioned that everyone was extremely happy for us both, and that the real meaning of union on the Torah isn't based on restricting it to a man and a woman, but to two individuals who truly love each other above all mundane things. Your partner must be your best friend, a person on whom you can stand by when things get tough, who isn't by your side by interest. My relationship with Stan was simply much deeper than all that in every possible sense, and I was tremendously happy by the fact that my family supported us with that much love.

Predictably, cousin Kyle got an extreme urgent phone call from the bank while we were still crossing the bridge. He left me at Newark's gates and went back to his diplomatic affairs. His parents would be in charge to pick me up at that very same gate, so I had no options left but wait until their black Porsche showed up. Cousin Kyle's parents were the kind of people who went through a serious financial crisis but got rid of it in a blink of an eye, and I mean, really got rid of it. It happens that 9 years ago, they bought the actions from that walking dildo Mr. Garrison created, and, naturally, modified it to a dildo-less version and only got richer and richer, in a way every single profit gained by the "IT" was now property of the Schwarz Family. Right after that, cousin Kyle was promoted at the bank. Now they fucking own New York. New Jersey, however, hadn't change much since my last visit. All the weird people were still there, with their orange skins and whore make-up. Obviously one should never generalise, but the few existing people with such a look were bad enough to ruin an entire city's reputation.

Boredom was growing bigger though, and I really needed to talk to Stan before getting to the synagogue. His dad, however, told me he was on football practise. I could only picture him running through the field on those tight football shorts as the sweat falls down his beautiful face. G'd, I missed watching his trainings already! To cheer for his glorious defeats, always proving that my baby really is the best quarterback in the entire state of Colorado. The only reason why I won't let him sign up for the Broncos is because his fans would start chasing him down everywhere and I wouldn't be able to pretend I'm not jealous. I had this same fear every time we went dancing. You see, Stan is the most beautiful human being in history of mankind, and the fact that other guys would flirt with him is inevitable. Everytime this happened though, I'd protected my property with all my loving, and that's way more loving than people usually have. I simply adore getting behind Stan and then kiss him so sensually he wouldn't forget it for a week so I would finally tell the asshole hitting on him that "he's with me", and then Stan would face him with his deep blue eyes, which simply say "fuck off, loser."

Obviously, nothing is ever so bad that it can't get worse! My yarmulke for instance, is something that have always bothered me. Not that I didn't like to wear it, very much the contrary, showing my position before G'd was extremely satisfactory, spiritually speaking. The real problem was my fucking hair, which looks horrible anyway, but in this case the yarmulke never fits and I looked like an idiot in the middle of the street, fixing it from time to time. Hopefully, winter was coming and I didn't have to expose such monstrosity to society's eyes anymore.

After torturing hours of wait, they finally arrived and it didn't take long for them to formulate the usual questions, the kind I had already practised to answer. "You've grown up Kyle! How is your little brother? How about Stan? When are you getting married?" Which was pretty embarrassing, but you get used to it. Especially from my aunt, who seems to like me more than her own son, not for the economical achievements, but probably because I'm better looking anyway. When we got there, my granddad waited for us with klezmer music and fresh kishkas. I just loved that atmosphere, like if I belonged somewhere. That would have been the best family reunion if Stan, my parents and Ike were present.

Although my granddad was very traditional regarding Jewish traditions and holidays, his mind was far from being Orthodox. Sure, he was Reform, but that's not only that. He was a revolutionary back in his days, being a member of the Hashomer Hatzair and several resistance movements inside the Treblinka camp in Poland. For some reason, I like to believe that explains my mom's behaviour during her youth. Anyway, he acted in an incredibly natural way when my mom told him about my sexual orientation. "So what?" Were his words to my parents. "You're also telling me that Ike likes blondes?" Like, there was no need to announce that, you know? It's a natural thing, it's my taste and we don't choose what to like. From the day he said that, I ask G'd everyday to let him stay alive for a long time yet, time enough to see Stan and I getting married under the laws of Israel.

We didn't take too long to make our way to Newark's synagogue. Which was formidable in every possible sense, since I really needed spiritual peace on such a moment. However, I was stressed enough to go back to cousin Kyle's apartment and do something else. Something not Jewish and important. After the Rabbi's sermon, I asked cousin Kyle's parents to take me back to New York, where I realised to really have some duties to fulfil, like unpacking and making that apartment look like a place I would live. Back to Manhattan, that was what I did during the rest of the day, until 7 pm when Stan usually gets back from football practise. However, if I ever wanted to graduate, it was time to get used to our distance. I didn't call him and decided to take a walk and explore a bit deeper into the Big Apple I would stay for the next 4 years. I left without a certain destiny, everything was so big and infinite I had no idea on where to start. That wasn't my first time in New York though, I've been here with my mom several times, but since we never went much far than the synagogues and cliché tourist spots like the Central Park and the Statue of Liberty, I never really considered those to be real visits. On my way though, I noticed some fuss at the so-called Strawberry Fields homage to John Lennon. I think it was his birthday or something, and the people crying around got me closer to that theory. I imagined Mr. Marsh would probably be shedding as much tears as those guys, he would be loving it for sure. I took a picture and sent it to Stan, although I knew he wouldn't show it to his dad. Although not a Beatles' fan, I showed proper respect and left some flowers to Mr. Lennon.

I kept walking and saw some dudes playing basketball not much far from there. Obviously I wouldn't dare asking to join them, as I don't think a redhead Jew from the Mid-west like myself would have any chances against those 6-feet-tall black guys. I mean, I'm actually pretty tall, my 5.10 feet are quite efficient against normal-sized-people, which clearly didn't apply to this case. Followed up, I went to towndown, where everything was dirty, noisy and full of tourists and businessmen. Maybe someday I'd get myself an office there, although it was very unlikely I'd ever get used to live in New York for that long. Stan and I were way too found of the Rocky Mountains to move right into pollution. Many things happened there as well, we just couldn't leave Colorado at that point. I'm not saying South Park by any means though, fuck that shit piece of town, what we really wanted was Denver.

Soon I went back to the kind-of-pure-air of the Central Park. Otherwise I'd have just expired my dad's credit card on clothes. Oh, I bought a new hat anyway, it was simply impossible to resist those rabbit-fur ushankas, even though Stan would kill me if he found out. Keeping the labels from my clothes hidden was the key to our relationship, and all these thoughts about him freaking-out over animal rights reminded me of that zoo, but since there was no dancing lion voiced by Ben Stiller I gave up staying there due to such frustration.

In the end, I had no options left: it was time to read my dad's books before the classes started. Some of it were kinda old, so I guessed its use would turn out to be more historical than educational on my case. That was boring me to death and if it wasn't for Stan I'd have felt asleep with my face on those books. His sweet voice told me about the football game, of how glorious his victory had been and I could only regret for not being there by his side on such an important moment. However, I wanted something else from him, and Stan knew damn well what it was.

"Are you still wearing your football uniform?" I asked, slowly leading my hand down my pants.

He clearly noticed the change on my voice tune, and, from this moment on, I knew that both of us were thinking the same.

"Actually I'm wearing my Broncos shirt, and… boxers." He replied. I couldn't tell if that was his outfit ever since before the phone-call, but I was sure that from this point, it would no longer be.

"Oh yeah?" I continued. "You know how much I love that shirt, but I like you better off without it."

Stan asked me to hold on for a minute. I could hear the sound of him undressing from the other side of the line, and that was definitely one of my favourite sounds in the whole world.

"How about you baby, what are you wearing?" He asked me afterwards. Although in my case it wasn't that fun, besides a white shirt and jeans, the only thing that could possibly interest him was my hard cock between my fingers, all moist with precum, which only got wetter as he kept whispering for me to take it all off. He started to moan louder and I to finger my ass deeper. I wanted him to rim me so badly at that point, in a way I could feel every inch of his tongue inside my rectum. I told him that, and he replied with the best "oh yes" I've heard in a long time. "Afterwards" he said, still moaning so deliciously "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're gonna feel my entire cock inside there."

The fact that Stan was unable to speak without moaning for a miserable second was really the reason why I was coming so hard. The way he gasped between each word was so fucking hot, like if the stuff we were telling each other was in fact happening. It would all have been perfect if I hadn't waken up right before the final act and found out it was all just a dream. Although my frustration, the message Stan had left on my cellphone made it all better. "I luv u moar 3" I replied.


	3. Tweek Tweak

Three in the morning, I couldn't sleep with all the noise. I knew that if I had taken their poison I'd never wake up again, although ,at times, I was well aware that it would be better off to sleep forever. _They_ talk louder at night, when everything else is quiet, leaving my entire miserable world at _their_ mercy. Things were more unbearable than the usual that particular morning though, more aggressive, torturing, as if _their_ voices were perforating my brain all together at once. I knew I shouldn't open my eyes because _they_ would be there, coming through the walls, climbing up to the ceiling, warning me about the conspirators around me. It was hard to figure _their_ real intentions out, whether it was killing me or warning me from getting killed, these creatures weren't reliable enough to make me feel less frightened. Still, I was forced to be brave enough to look deep into _their _eyes and tell them about Jeff's plan. _They_ wouldn't hurt me anymore, and I would finally escape from that living hell my parents locked me up to. I knew that it was just part of their plan to get rid of me for once, but Jeff taught me how to fool the nurses so they would actually believe I had taken their poison and wouldn't force me to do so, or taser me whatsoever. When I first got to this place, I kept wondering why they were called nurses if those are supposed to take care, and not kill their patients. That's when I realised it was a mere disguise, a way to trick outsiders they were a loving-care hospital, making it easier to get away with it. We, the prisoners, however, knew what it looked like in the inside and what was behind that mask, and I tell you what, it was everything but loving-care.

Perhaps I should talk more about Jeff, since he has a crucial point on this whole thing. Well, Jeff was a gnome, but unlike the underpants ones he was uglier, scarier, and really, really disturbing at night. His true name wasn't Jeff though, but since he insisted on calling me so, I decided to call him just like that as well. He first appeared when I was around 12, at the coffeeshop. He was just there, taking his coffee when I realised it was time to put my fear aside and take a step farther and clean that client's table. I approached carefully as _they_ began to tell me "you see that gnome over there? He's gonna fucking kill you, dumbass. Everyone here will see you getting murdered, isn't that glorious? You really want to ruin your father's business, don't you asshole?" I'd usually listen to _their _"advices", but for some unknown reason, there was a different, louder voice telling me that gnome had just had a tough day at work and was grumpy by nature, which proved to be true as he got to visit me each time more often.

"Excuse me sir, may I take these?" I asked, still very hesitantly.

"Are you out of your mind, Jeff? I'm still drinking that shit! What's got into you lately?" He immediately replied in a grumpy gnome voice. Just like that, as if he already knew me for years.

"My name is Tweek, sir!" I told him, as I couldn't figure out why would anybody ever call me Jeff.

"Yeah, whatever, Jeff. Just do your job, otherwise people will start to stare." And so they did. The entire coffeeshop was staring at me as Jeff simply disappeared from his table. My dad came soon afterwards with the pills, telling me to stop scaring off the costumers and to get back to the cash register. Call me whatever they will, but Jeff was the costumer who left, so he shouldn't blame me for losing the gnomic clientele.

Since that day, Jeff started to show up at the most inusitate situations, when I'd least expect his presence. We soon became "acquaintances", as I wouldn't call us friends due to his terrifying persona. When my parents put me away, he started giving me clues on how to escape that place. The problem is, it was never enough to actually lead me anywhere. Later on group therapies (or maybe I should call it group tortures), I was to found out that it was almost impossible to get out unless you're smart enough to trick the nurse who looks after us in the backyard, finding a way through the trees. I'd try that once or twice, but that guy was the worst nurse in the entire hospital, he would never pay attention to anything we say, as if we weren't even humans to him. Crazy people aren't humans to anybody though, it was like we didn't belong anywhere but that prison they called a mental hospital. But Jeff's master plan was bigger than that, the only thing missing on that puzzle was none other than Craig, and since he was gone missing, there was no such thing as a predictable day to execute this plan. I told Clyde to get in touch with him as soon as possible, but he always gets too freaked out by the other patients or even too distracted by the female nurses whenever he visits me to remember anything I ever tell him. He was here the other day, crying like a baby when the chubby guy from room 213 hugged him without an apparent reason. He does that sometimes, like if he really loves the visitors, raising hope they will take him away from here someday.

I could go home a week per month. It was their way to convince me I wasn't a prisoner, but I knew the truth all along. Whether it was Clyde or my parents to come and pick me up, I'd have to go back to confinement as soon as I had left it. The last time I went outside, Craig was still around. He had mentioned being tired of "fucking every single guy in that piece of shit of a town" and wanted to hustler somewhere else. He could be anywhere by now, probably as far as possible, considering his tendency to never leave a "brb" note. I wish I wasn't so dependant of his presence to fight _the things_ away. It would be so much better if I could simply crush _them_ all together with my own hands, or even knit _their_ invisible mouths and finally experience what silence feels like once again. But I knew that wasn't going to happen, just as I wasn't ever going to be released from this inner hell either.

As daylight approached, _their_ voices lowered down and the previous darkness took the shape of what I decided to call "the morning watchers". They were these kind of things that have never mentioned a single word to my ears, all they could do was stare, due to their lack of legs, or any other member whatsoever. They were nothing but pale torsos, wrapped up inside dirty pillow bags as a newborn baby would by his mother. Only they had no mothers, nor were babies for that matter. They were soulless, those empty eyes that insisted to encounter mine every morning weren't willing to show feelings, but emptiness instead. I knew it was all my fault, mirroring my own soul like that was their job, the kind of job only the cold light of morning could reflect. I, unsuccessfully, tried conversations a few times, as it was a mystery to me whether they had a conscience of their own or not, although it was most unlikely there was anything behind those blank gazes.

They faded as the light grew whiter and the noise got louder. I was waiting for Jeff to show up, but since it never happens when I do, I quit paying attention to it. That backyard nurse soon came in to give me the first poison of the day. I stuck it in my throat until he finally left and then smashed into little pieces nobody would ever see. Pieces so little only the smallest eyes would notice. This clearly didn't apply to the hospital nurses, as theirs were bigger and scarier than any other.

That was my check-up day, which is another name to "Tweek's Torture Day." This one special holiday at the Slater Carey Hospital is supposed to check on my progress regarding group therapy and CBT technics, but that's what Dr. Norris lying mouth said. I knew the bastard for a long time to be aware that every single word he would say was a sad and coward attempt to fool me so I would fall on their trap, making their masterplan come true. He's been telling me that everything would be alright for years, that the voices would shut, when_ they _actually only got worse, uglier and more disturbing. I just don't know what's real anymore, except that it hurts too much to be a hallucination. The only person who have never lied to me was Craig. I remember very clearly the day I asked him if I would ever get better and he honestly told me "no". But he also told me to be brave, because I wasn't alone on this, and that was something no doctor ever had the guts to do, Dr. Norris was the worst example of that kind. He also said I had ADHD about 9 years ago, only to change my diagnosis to schizophrenia a couple years later. That's when his lies began, or maybe when I found the whole bullshit out. The voices got clearer and more taunting on this period, so it was no surprise life revealed its daggers in the most crucial moment.

I ate the food Clyde had left at the hospital because I simply don't trust theirs and was taken to Dr. Norris presence soon afterwards. He faked a sympathetic smile, the kind of smile that didn't appreciate my frown and then told me to sit down. I didn't, until he threaned to call the nurses so the disturbing questions which I didn't want to answer would have their start.

"How are you feeling this morning, Tweek?" The fake smile insisted on asking, even though he knew what I would say in response.

"Bad." I started messing up my hair, since it made me feel less anxious.

"And why is that?" Came soon as I expected. I didn't answer and kept looking away, wondering what would be his next move to attempt to fool me.

"Tweek, are you taking your medication as you should? We've gone through this before, remember? And we don't want that to happen again, right? Or do we?" He showed me the taser, held by his gigantic smashing hands, as much gigantic as his head, which kept growing as his authority took shape on that small electroshock weapon. On that moment, I focused my mind on CBT. Not theirs, but the one Craig had taught me earlier that month. It hadn't help much back then, but for some reason, I believed on what my own thoughts were saying instead of the voices this time. Perhaps that taser didn't even have its batteries on, perhaps he was just trying to scare me because he's a liar. He always lies about everything, technically the taser should be bullshit as well.

"I'm taking the meds as your guards told me to do, Norris." I said as convincingly as I could.

"We'll talk about that later. For now, I'll need something else from you." Then I knew the interrogation had begun. Once again he would torment my soul until there's no blood left to suck on. He had fangs, big vampire fangs made to suck every single inch of life left on my weakened body.

"Let's start with your dreams. What did you last dream about?" Like if I could even sleep! The last time I had slept that week made me forget who I am and where I was! I just couldn't let them follow up with that plan. Erasing my memory would facilitate my submission, and everything else made sense from this! I recalled my last dream and it was just like "The Little Prince", except that instead of a rose, it was my brain inside a glass. Obviously I wouldn't tell Dr. Norris about it, he would make a stupid scientific assumption and interpretation over this, which was unnecessary when I knew that it was only a premonition on what they planed to do with my own brain after the plan was executed. He kept asking, about Jeff, the voices, the creatures, and I didn't tell him. He thinks I'm crazy, just like everybody else he thinks it's all in my head, but I know it can't be, if so, nothing is real! Dr. Norris, that hospital, the other people in there, myself and even coffee! And I just won't believe on what they tell me, I know their real intentions with this talk, Clyde's mom is the biggest example. Everyone says she's dead, they told Clyde she was dead and now he can't even see her anymore, blinded by such big lies! But I'm not like them, I see Mrs. Donovan as clear as the crystal meth Craig smokes everytime I leave the hospital. She's there, taking care of her garden as usual, but poor Clyde was forced to believe she isn't. I feel sorry for him, too bad he was already too much brain-washed to feel sorry for me as I do for him.

As this was finally over, I went to the backyard where everyone else was. The nurse guarded the tree passage like his masters had taught him to do, while a guy singed to him. He didn't seem to like it very much because his voice sounded awfully synthetic, as if he had eaten a synthetiser and it was stuck in his vocal chords.

"He looks like a bird, doesn't he?" The guy from room 325 said directing to me.

"He may turn into one." I replied. "But that depends on him, you can't force someone to become a bird, unless you shoot them."

He seemed confused though. I wasn't in the mood, but, still, explained that the shotgun should countain bird-transforming fluids, otherwise it wouldn't work.

"Well, do you have a bird-transforming gun, Tweek?" he seemed to understand.

"No." I replied once again. "But you can buy it with, you know, money. The same money you spend on candy, every week." Yes, I knew about his candy addiction, almost as vivid as my thirsty for coffee. He got pissed though.

"They didn't say I was supposed to!" and left me without a goodbye excuse. I sighted Jeff near the benches, smoking a pipe weed and calling me to his encounter using an ancient gnome language, which was basically jumping around like a crazy bastard. I didn't like sitting on those benches, because once you do, you can't reach the ground anymore, simply because they were high as the sky, flying up to the space where not even the Doctor can reach, and Jeff was aware of it when he decided to sit on the ground instead.

"You hear that?" He said pointing to the trees. "It's the sound of progress, mein freund!" I couldn't imagine the reason why Jeff would possibly quote Team Fortress 2, or fake that sudden Medic German accent whatsoever, so I asked him not to do that anymore, as it was somehow disturbing and unnecessary.

"You don't own me, Jeff!" He didn't seem to take it too nicely. "The answer is right behind your back, you're just ignoring it!" In this case, I was supposed to find the question for this missing answer he insisted on mentioning. I had no clue though, there was too much to know and too little to understand from Jeff. He was rather unable to give information in an objective way.

"Can't you just say it?" I'd always tell him. "Is it asking too much for a non-enigmatic reply?" But it was in vain, thus he wouldn't ever give me a clear answer.

"Isn't everything too much?" And as I expected, he faded as soon as I looked away. _They_ told me to get inside then, because the nurses were coming to get me, the "Blue" and the "Red" one. I called them Blue and Red because they both looked like a 3D movie, distorted and blurry without the glasses I asked Clyde to craft. I don't know why I couldn't see them, but no thing should remain uncovered, even if it was ugly and scary, I just had to see what I was fighting against. They were in fact approaching the benches as I looked the other way round, so I quickly ran inside back to the hospital. They were also known as the "Injection Nurses", since it was their job to lethally inject me poison whenever I tried to resist. I mean, does anybody who reads comic books noticed the hipster cop duo? A blond wearing glasses and a stylish dark-haired dude? Blue and Red were the live action version of the hipster cop due, except they would do better off as villains if my life was damned to a super hero comic book experience. That's when I realised everything fitted perfectly. Just a few seconds before that, the singing guy was saying the words from The Beach Boys' "Heroes and Villains", before _they_ warned me about Blue and Red. For some reason, I considered this to be a good sign, meaning that the plan would work just as fine and I would soon breathe the air of freedom once again. Until there, I should do something about my room walls, before they would shrink and disappear until they're invisible. Next thing _they_ told me was to do what I want.


	4. Craig Tucker

I wasn't feeling like working that night. My thoughts and heartbeat were the only things filling that filthy hostel room, the kind of thoughts I wanted to avoid at any cost since I had first left South Park for good. Having some old, fat and bald closeted-homosexual bastard to fuck my ass for 50 bucks wasn't really the best way to push them away though. In times like that, I usually ask myself if it was actually worthy to be a hustler only to get messed with such nasty perverts. The thing is, life was fucked up already, what else could I do? Once in a while, I was lucky enough to find my "type", which I would fuck for free without hesitation, but when a dude is willing to pay 300 bucks for a blowjob, with the bonus of being a handsome son of a bitch, what's in there to hesitate?

I mean, I liked being a hustler, but being disturbed by such thoughts was inevitable in the middle of my business. It was like if he was inside my head, calling me for help, blaming me for had left him alone with his own ghosts at that goddamn hospital, when I was the only one capable of making _them_ go away. "Do I love him?" I thought. "Obviously not, I don't love anybody, as there isn't such a thing as love, only sex." Still, there was something I couldn't explain, I couldn't even understand what the fucking hell was going on inside my head. "Maybe I got his craziness too." Althought that was very unlikely, I mean, I'm a disturbed little bastard, who went through a lot and took shit from everybody, but I was definitely far from being the schizophrenic Tweek was. His late diagnosis came at the age of 12, and it has got each time worse ever since. Obviously, he had always been schizophrenic, it was a well-known fact to everybody in town, that is, except for his parents, who were satisfied to a certainly random ADHD diagnosis from a doctor who had bigger problems to deal with, rather than diagnosing schizo kids accurately. He then started the treatment with Clozapine and Lithium and his problems went from adorable and innocent underpants gnomes to terrifying voices telling him to kill himself and disformed figures watching him sleep from the corner of his dark room. He could only sleep under the effect of what was a combination of Rohypnol and Zolpidem, even though it was not always effective. Coffee obviously only made it all worse, but at this point it was impossible to revert his addiction to anything healthier, so it was pretty much like a methadone treatment. That was also the period we started to get closer, as I gave Tweek's parents the best support anyone could actually give, which was patience and understanding. Besides the fact the he wasn't able to trust anybody but me, everyone else ignored his existence or avoided to mention his name. That's what society do about crazy people, after all, pretending they don't exist is always easier than dealing with them. But I wasn't afraid, you know? I understood all that pretty well, and as soon as Tweek got an official diagnosis, I got much closer to him and his family. Surely, I can't deny my interests were others at first. Everyone knew I've always had a thing from Tweek and his golden hair askew, but as the days passed by and the more I witnessed his episodes, it turned into something deeper than a simple "thing." Love, perhaps? No, I don't love anything but my cock! I don't even know what it is, I just know it's completely different from what I felt for people like Kenny, or even Thomas. I wanted to fuck them, and that was all! Nothing more, nothing else, just sex, the kind of sex I have with my clients: quick, casual, dirty and self-pleasure centered only. Why would it be any different with Tweek? I just couldn't tell, but these doubts wouldn't stop me from carrying on my business.

I went out anyway, to Manhattan's fabulous side, where everything sparkles and shines like diamonds, wearing leather pants tight enough to show the product's quality, and a fur coat over a fishnet top. Even though that was a hell of a cold night, I'm just naturally hot. As incredibly as it looks, I made U$250 that night, half of it from a technically young business man. He wasn't really my type though, the guy was a top and definitely not blond, so what's the fun on it? The rest came from a drunk prick who wasn't really aware of my profession . He started flirting and ended up having his wallet stolen. That was why New York drunks are the best in the entire America.

I went back to the hostel then, after spending my payment on crystal and cheap whisky. The only thing I wanted on that moment was lightning that shit up and throwing myself on bed until that drape-less window revealed the burning morning sun on my face. Crystal was just like sex to me, instantaneous and casual, it comes and goes. The next morning I wouldn't even remember it happened, and that's how I wanted everything to be like. I wanted to forget everything and wake up in a different life each day, or at least in a different place. That was probably the reason why I fancied narcolepsy so much. Passing out randomly without having a hangover the next day and waking up in a whole new place was a very temptating experience. I wouldn't remember what, why or when I did whatever I did and that would be my little piece of heaven on earth.

Although I got high with the intent of causing an amnesia outbreak, the memories seemed to be pushed with more instensity when I did. Like that one day when I finally realised I wasn't helping Tweek for the previous benefits I had in mind. It became obvious as he kept saying those words. I had went to his house 'cause his parents called me asking for help. He was having a really intense episode, crawling to the corner of his room and screaming that "_they_ were trying to rip off his arms to feed each other." He wasn't allowing his parents to get inside the room though, claiming that they were part of the plot. I admit they had no much choice left but calling for my help. I was pole-dancing to Blood on the Dance Floor's "Sexting" at a club in Denver on that very moment, dancing on some gross guy's lap on an attempt to grab his wallet while he was too distracted by my ass. That's when my phone started to vibrate on the back on my shorts. I left the stage only to hear Tweek's dad incredibly calm voice telling me about what had happened.

"It looks like his mom forgot to give him the Seroquel dose this afternoon. You see Craig, it's not really an important medication, I don't blame her for getting confused over all those meds, but he gets like that if there's anything missing, you know how it is." Tweek's dad, Richard, explained. "I see you're working, and I really don't want to bother, but if you could at least talk to him on the phone it would help a lot."

Of course, I couldn't just leave the club without a warn, besides that, I hadn't even make that much money yet with a single performance. However, I changed that BDSM leather costume to an actual leather jacket and a pair of jeans in a blink of an eye without thinking twice. Although Richard offered himself to pick me up in Denver, I took a subway instead. "No offense, Mr. Tweak, but even taking a subway will get there faster than your driving limit." I told him. And it sure did, as I was in South Park in 20 minutes after that phone call. I walked to Tweek's house through that same creepy shortcut Butters took that one time when his mom tried to murder him. His parents were curiously drinking coffee outside when I finally arrived there.

"Is there a reason why you're locked outside your own house?" I asked confused.

"Tweek pushed us out. "Mrs. Tweak said in the calmest voice ever, like if none of that was even happening. I admit to be quite annoyed by that. "He said that we want to kill him."

"Well, do you?" I asked only to make sure, or at least make it less awkward.

"Of course not, we love our son with the intensity of a morning sunlig-"

"Mr. Tweak!" I shouted before he would start the metaphors. "I get it, no need for details. Now, let's get inside, I'll talk to him."

"God bless you, Craig. You're the only one who can save him." As I heard these words coming from Tweek's mom, my only reply was a look in the eyes that said something like "please, don't give me that responsibility."

The house was silent as death when I got in. The only present sound was the coffee brewing in the kitchen. I walked upstairs towards Tweek's room, and even before knocking as smoothly as possible, he warned me from the other side of the door that "if they tried to enter he would have to use violence."

"It's Craig." I announced as simple as that.

Tweek quickly opened the door and hugged me strong enough to steal my breath way. Not that he was actually strong, in fact, he wasn't strong at all. If his diet wasn't entirely based on caffeine, you could mistaken him for an anorexic. I was always very careful while holding him back, smoothly.

"_They_'re gone, Craig!" _They _won't hurt me anymore 'cause you're here to protect me!" He stated in a relieved tune.

"Look." I said and took us inside his room with the door closed. "_They_ won't hurt you, okay? There's nobody here but me."

"But that's because you came. _They_'re afraid of you because you're strong and brave. _They _can only hurt weak losers like myself."

"I'm not strong, Tweek." I sat on his bed and lightned up a cigarette. "Why do you think I live with Clyde, fuck old and disgusting guys for easy money and do drugs to forget all the shit instead of living an honest, hard-working life? I'm actually weaker than everybody else. You're the strong one for dealing with this everyday of your life and still not giving up."

Tweek started to walk in circles, but still calm enough to keep a conversation.

"Do you know why I don't give up?" He asked, looking down the floor and still walking. "Because I know that you'll make _them_ go away. _They_ keep telling me to end it all for once, calling me names and making me feel like I wasn't supposed to be born and that I'm doing everything wrong. But I know that in the end, you'll make_ them_ go away. _They_ won't hurt me anymore 'cause _they_'re too afraid to fight you. I know that in the end, Craig will be there to save me."

"Please, don't say that." I can't deny I was disturbed by Tweek's need of my company. I wasn't prepared for such responsibility, specially because of the effects he caused of me. I threw the half-smoked cigarette down the window and tried to act as natural as possible. "You shouldn't hear what they say, I told you that already."

"Don't you think I try?!" He started to press my arms very strongly then, and in a more aggressive tune. "Don't you think I tell _them_ to shut the fuck up and leave me alone? It's all I do, all day long! But I told you Craig, hurting weak people is their speciality, they will never leave me alone!"

I felt something as Tweek touched my arms, and I was scared of what it was. "Please God, make this feeling go away." Was all I could think of.

"Will you tell me why you didn't take your Seroquel medication today?" I asked in an attempt to change the subject and looking the other way round.

"That's not medication, Craig!" He was now punching that rolypoly clown toy which usually terrifies him to death. It was still a mystery why his dad kept moving that thing back to his room. "Don't you see it's poison? These two… They say they wanna help, but they're also working for all the others! They're killing me little by little until I drop dead so they can give my corpse to the others!"

That's it, I couldn't just stand there anymore. I walked to him and stroked his shoulders until he finally calmed down a bit.

"They don't want to kill you, okay? They are your parents and love you very much." Tweek sat down on the floor and started to draw something with the dust dropped by the clown.

"Nobody loves me, _they _made it very clear." He insisted.

"Your parents love you, and… other people too." I then contested in an evasive tune. For some reason, Tweek stared at me for an everlasting minute, until I was embarrassed enough to leave the room to pick up his meds before he had another attack.

"Please, don't go!" He begged with so much pain on his raucous voice when I opened the door.

"I won't. I'm just going to get your meds. I promise I won't go away, okay? Just stay here."

When I got to the kitchen, Tweek's parents did not seem to be much worried about anything at all, they were just chilling out and drinking coffee as if their son wasn't having a psychotic attack.

"Hey Craig, you want some?" Mr. Tweak asked. "It's fresh as the mountains' air-"

"No Mr. Tweak, thanks a lot!" I replied a bit annoyed by their serenity. It was like they didn't care about Tweek at all, or maybe they just wanted to push the responsibility to look after a schizophrenic son to myself, or they were probably just high. Probably all the options, and as I got the Seroquel pill, plus the Rohypnol/Zolpidem cocktail for his sleep, I immediately went back upstairs, since Tweek's parents disturbed be so much. He was in the same position over the floor as when I had left, only this time his draw was finished. The whole thing was really undescribable. To me, it looked like a disformed body with his organs showing and a hand coming out of his "mouth", deliverying a flower to someone who wasn't there. Honestly, I was more impressed by the fact that Tweek could draw so well with only a small amount of dust and his index finger rather than the picture itself.

"I'll tell you something very serious." I crouched so our looks would be at the same reach. "I can't be with you all the time. Sometimes, _they_'ll tell you things and I won't be here to make _them_ go away, that's why you must take these. I know it's not the same, but it will keep the voices down, okay?"

Tweek took it from my hand and swallowed the Seroquel pill he had skipped that afternoon.

"Just promise me you won't leave for good." He said it and I felt a sharp feeling in my chest. I looked away, upset as I was.

"Why do you do this to me, goddammit? I'll try, alright? Now take these and go to bed, it's late."

"More?" He said quite indignate to the fact of having to take more stuff. I wouldn't blame him, but we had no options left.

"Yes, more. Or else you'll be up all night torturing yourself, and we don't want that, right?"

Tweek started to laugh with no apparent reason, which was actually very rare from him to do. I was confused at that whole thing.

"What's so funny now?" I asked.

"Don't you see? I don't need these tonight, Craig. You're here, why would I be afraid of sleeping?

Fuck, I thought. Why does he keep saying those things just for me to like him even more? But no! Stop thinking about it, Craig! He's just hot to you, you don't like him any more than that! I mean, I was really lost on those thoughts. Tweek called for my attention but it took me half a minute to get back to reality.

"I'll get a sleeping bag with your dad, stay here." I left the room the last time that night. My head started to ache due to all those uncertainties and denied feelings. Why was I doing in the first place? I was obviously attracted to Tweek, but why did it feel like it was more than just that? Fuck this shit, I could do nothing but grab that sleeping bag and turn off my head like if it was moved by batteries. When I got back to the room, Tweek had made his bed already. There was no need to change to pyjamas since he had been wearing that the whole day long, so the only thing missing was getting under the sheets. I, on the other hand, didn't have much to wear, so I kept my white tee on and took off my pants before turning off the lights. We were in complete silence for at least 10 minutes into Tweek finally called my name and made it all worse once for all.

"What is it?" I replied in a sleepy voice.

"I wish you were closer…" He went on.

"Tweek, I'm exactly by your side on the floor, there is no closer than that."

"No, I mean… In my bed."

As he pronounced those words together, I knew it would be impossible to control myself anymore. I didn't want to understand what those feelings were, but it was getting difficult to pretend it wasn't happening.

"Why do you want me close to you?" I simply asked, holding on Tweek's bed. "I'm not a good person, especially for you."

He took a while to answer. I suppose he was looking for something that wouldn't trigger the voices to return.

"Because I feel good when you're close to me, Craig. It's the only time of the day I feel peaceful and silentful. I just… Like you."

I could notice his smile amidst that half darkness. Finally, I couldn't resist any longer and sat on his bed. I held his hand tight even though I knew I should and continued:

"Don't make me like you any more than I already do, alright? This much torments me enough." I knew I really shouldn't, but there was nothing I can do but kissing his coffee-tasting lips after saying those words. That probably never meant anything for Tweek, it was like if somedy has touched his shoulder or something, there wasn't anything special on it for him. For me, however, that pathetic attitude kept to tormend my life from this day on, and even though it sucked to admit, I wanted that to happen again, with all the strength I still had in the inside. Those memories were torturing enough by themselves though. I shouted the loudest "fuck" of my life and ceased to remember things I wish I could have avoided. I jerked off thinking about this hot guy I'd just seen on a Randy Blue porno and felt asleep into the only world where I would be completely free from myself: ironically, that was my own.


	5. Stan Marsh II

Fuck, I was becoming just like my dad. The inevitable was happening and I was scared to death of finding out what was coming next. He still had the guts to say he would send me to a rehab! Like, "hey Randy Marsh, hypocrisy called, what's up?"

Besides I had no one my by side, it'd been 3 months since Kyle had left, which only got worse by the fact that we weren't speaking for two day until that moment. I wonder how could they even dare blaming me for such a situation I had nothing to do with. If only I had a family, you know? If I had any kind of support things wouldn't have got to this point. Everything they could do was telling me how ingrate I was for the life I have, from the parents and the education they gave me. "Take a look at your friend Kenny's life, Stanley!" My dad started and I just fucking hated this comparison to Kenny or even our life to the McCormick's. Like, it's not my fault they're poor, I have nothing to do with it! "His dad kicked him out to work when he was only 17. I could have done the same to you, young man! Or maybe what the Tucker did to their son!" A that's when shit got serious and all that whisky in my blood turned into pure and solid rage.

"Don't you fucking dare comparing me to Craig Tucker!" I yelled before my mom could tell me "not to use that language with my parents." I told her to fuck off in slow-motion like I really meant it and made my dad pay for comparing me to that filthy prostitute,which means, bye-bye to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band LP. Obviously I'd never seen my dad as pissed as he was on that moment in his entire life. He beat me so hard I almost felt it, but thanks to my alcoholic anestesia state, I only paid for that price the next morning. My next step was getting all the beer left and running away from that house before they'd stop me. I went to Kyle's house, since there wasn't anybody there besides Ike, who really didn't care much about me, as everyone knows he's a man of few words.

I called Kyle's number, probably because I knew he would only pick it up thinking it was his mom. Everything had started one week earlier, when my loneliness and his stress could no longer coexist. I mean, the fact that Kyle gets stressed out by everything is no news to anybody, but putting this together to all the pressure of studying, plus me to bother him everyday was already driving him insane. The problem is, his way of showing concern towards me is always blaming me for everything that's happening in the world, saying that drinking isn't the solution and stuff like that, however he has no idea of how much I was suffering! Course, it wasn't a big deal for him, after all he has always been stronger than me, but it's not that difficult to show a little understanding! Kyle is the only reason why I was alive, being without him was too unbearable to stand, and he simply didn't understand that the last thing I needed was hearing him shouted at me.

"Look mom, I have 10 books to finish until Friday and a billion compositions to write! Can you please stop calling me all the freaking time?!" He then answered, clearly pissed as hell, which didn't stop me from insisting on that anyway.

"It's me." I said. It was extremely relieving to realise he calmed down a bit after hearing my voice, and somehow seemed to forget our previous fights.

"Stan, baby! I'm sorry for yelling, I can't think straight with all this pressure." He sighed and I started to cry. I told him everything about that day and how much I needed him on that moment, but Kyle's silence for the next few seconds after I spoke predicted what he was going to say in response.

"Are you drunk, Stan?" Followed by his default speech: "I won't speak to you like that, okay? I'm fucking tired of it! There's no reason for you to do this, I love you more than my fucking life and everything I do is for you, even this! Because I want us to be happy one day, I want us to have a beautiful life together, but you keep insisting on the opposite way! I love you baby, and that's why I want you to stop this. I can't study knowing that you're hurting yourself!"

"If you care about me then come back to South Park." I said, still sobbing. "If you don't come back I'm gonna die!" But Kyle's patience was short as Cartman's dick, and I knew that better than even Kyle himself. I was only getting him more pissed rather than solving our problem.

"Listen, Stan. I've been here for 3 months and you didn't die! All the times you went to Japan, Norway, Iceland, I don't know, the world's ass hole, don't you think I felt miserable as well?! We'll see each other in November, just be a little patient, okay? Just promise me you'll quit drinking and we don't talk about that anymore."

That's when I started to get pissed myself. Kyle always thinks that he's in charge of our relationship, that he can tell me what to do. Well, that simply doesn't work, not when I have 70% of alcohol up my head. He soon gave up arguing though, as none of us had anything else to say regarding that subject and I really had to puke.

"Call me when you're sober, okay? I'll be looking forward to it because I miss you tons."

"Fuck you, Kyle." I replied, trying my best not to puke on my Little Monster t-shirt.

"I love you too. Now go get some rest and take care of yourself since I'm not there do to so."

That's all I remember before waking up on Kyle's bed with Mrs. Broflovski's kosher breakfast by my side. For some reason, that was the best hangover I'd ever had. Not that it is ever a good thing, but it was definitely much less worse than the last times. It was like everything was calm and silent. My head didn't hurt so bad and I could eat without vomiting just by the look of my breakfast. Kyle's house was just like that, and it has always been. No crazy dad listening to "Helter Skelter" at 7 am or mom vaccumning your room at the very same time. It was all very different at the Broflovski's, like, I could wake up whenever I wanted to, and using some of my parents-in-law spoiling wasn't a bad idea either. I went downstairs and Mrs. Broflovski was helping Ike with his Math homework. I sat down with them and after she asked me if I was feeling better, liked the breakfast and all that stuff a good Jewish mother-in-law would ask after her son's boyfriend had one too many, I wondered what had happened the other day after I passed out. According to Ike, I was crying my heart out to him, saying that Kyle hated me and stuff, so he simply said "no" and slapped me on the face. Mrs. Broflovski then told me that Kyle was worried sick and called all morning, which made me feel a little better. I didn't want to stress him out though, so I simply texted: "I'm ok, don't worry ;) and I'm sorry about yesterday, I'm such an asshole. I love you 3" Perhaps, I thought, it was time to start to get used to Kyle's absence and stop torturing us both because of it. There were only 2 months left and I would finally be able to go to New York to see him. I just had to focus on this and be happy for our reunion. Like Al said, it would be the best feeling in the world. For this, however, I'd have to stay away from my family for a while, even though they wouldn't stop calling me. I just couldn't live with this on Kyle's absence. I'd go insane and they would force me to go to rehab. No way that would happen, not in this life, I mean, imagine being stuck in a hospital like they did with Tweek? Okay, he's schizophrenic, the kind of person who needs to stay in a hospital for society's and his own sake. But not me, I'm a normal person, my only problem is my life, which isn't really my fault.

Mrs. Broflovski told my mom I was there, and this certainly made them stop bothering me for a while. They knew I was in a decent house where they wouldn't let me drink, but that was something that depended on me only, and I had to keep these thoughts away as better as I could. I decided to help Ike on his homework myself, while his mom talked on the phone. He really sucked at it though. If you didn't know he was adopted, it would be almost impossible to believe Kyle and he were even related. I wasn't that good myself, in fact, the only reason why I finished high school is because Kyle helped me during every second of it. But you know, fifth grade stuff was easy, I could "give it a bash", as said by that Beatles' guy in a movie my dad was watching. He didn't seem much interested though, and we ended up talking more about my alcoholism rather than his homework. I asked why had he slapped me on the face, like, that was so mean! He said I deserved it, because saying that Kyle hates me is basically the same as saying that Kenny is a millionaire. I understood why he got pissed, it was Ike's way of solving problems, you know? Slapping desperate people on the face. I heard he had once done that to Clyde, which must have been awesome, I wish I was around to see that happening! That reminded me of the last football practise and that the big game against Denver was approaching. I had to look stunning on that day, since they would be broadcasting it on national television. Not that many people watch that amateur football channel anyway, but the few who do just had to see my gloriosity at its best. That means I really should stop drinking, as nobody wanted to see that Guitar Hero performance repeat itself, especially Kyle. I quit daydreaming about my victory and asked Ike to help me with some throwings. He wouldn't help much since his preteen arms weren't strong enough to march my quarterback abilities, but it was fun anyway. In the middle of our training though, Kenny asked me out for some beer, which would be the coolest thing ever if I wasn't trying to quit alcohol.

"Oh, you don't have to drink, come around and we can just talk." He assured me. "I was at the bar and heard your dad to mine about you. Is everything okay, dude? I mean, he sounded very serious."

I told him then not to believe my father's gossip because it was all bullshit. "It's okay." Kenny proceed. "They ended up fighting in some stupid redneck fight anyway."

Next he told me to meet at Stark's Pond. I was really hesitant to go since he had also mentioned that Cartman was there too, and I wasn't in the mood for arguing with that fat bastard. Still, I was bored as fuck and some fresh, icy air, would definitely do some good to me. Kenny was with some girl when I got there, and Cartman was insulting them both for being poor, which was actually a butthurt excuse for not having a girlfriend himself. She left soon though, according to Kenny because there were drug-dealers after her and she had to hide in a friend's house in Middle Park. That was, of course, a perfect opportunity for Cartman to make a discriminating joke.

"I bet this bitch went to pay the eviction notice from the paperboard box she lives in. Beware Kenny, you may be the next." And hysterically laughed as the r-tard he was. Kenny smiled, which was kind of an ironical thing to do.

"Who cares about where she lives? She's hot as fuck and has big boobs, that's all I need." Cartman obviously wouldn't let himself get owned like that. When it happens, his tactic was to agree with the person who had just owned him and then try to humilliant the other person who was present, in this case, it was me.

"That's true, Kenny." He said just as expected. "That's something Stan will never know 'cause he's a cocksucking fag."

I wasn't feeling like stressing out, my life was fucked up enough and there was nothing that fatass could make any worse.

"Yes, Cartman. I am." I admitted with as much serenity as I could. "I'm a fag, I love cock just as much as any other male homosexual. That is, however, something you'll never know either, because you're fat, and not even dirty sluts like Craig would want to suck your cock, because it is way too small to even satisfy people like him, and trust me, he's satisfied by anything."

That would be the second time I'd get my ass kicked that week, except that I escaped before he could touch me. As Kenny took care of it, I sneaked into the woods and sighted a little white bunny eating undergrowth. After making sure I wasn't drunk again, I slowly got closer to it and offered some rabbit seeds I always carry when visiting Stark Pond. While it ate on my hand, I took the change to take it in my arms and show it to the guys.

"Hey everybody, I know someone who just died of cuteness here." I said returning to Stark's Pond's daylight. "Cartman, don't scare him off with your ugliness."

Obviously he had to stand up for himself with an r-tard and predictable joke, like: "Oh, look how sweet you guys, a fag and his little bunny! What's gonna happen next, will it start to rain rainbows? They should change this town's name to Fag Park instead!"

He was so pathetic I had to laugh. "Yeah, you're right dude, it would be fabulous if they did! Especially if this place was called Dick's Pond, it'd come here everyday!"

Kenny was rolling on the floor laughing his ass off, and Cartman was pissed as fuck. It just couldn't get any better.

"You suck, Stan." He said at last, even though he clearly knew that it was an in-joke between Craig, Kyle and I that whenever people tell us that, we would always reply like "Yeah dude, I fucking love it!"

"Have you guys seen Butters?" I asked, changing the subject or else Cartman would hurt me for real. He was a psychopath manic, therefore it could be dangerous. "I bet he would love this bunny."

"He's grounded." Kenny told us, while texting some other girl for a change. "For eating all the cookies in the house. According to what I heard his dad saying at the bar, on account of it, the Stotch will never ever buy cookies again."

Now that was just too fucking funny. He was like, 18 already! And his parents still treated him like a little baby. I guess that's what sucks about not having siblings. Thank God I have a sister, even though she's a bitch.

"That's bullshit, right?" I asked, still. I wouldn't doubt Kenny was only trolling poor Butters.

"Unfortunately not. I feel sorry for that kid, we should do something to compensate on the lack of cookies in his life."

"Like, a cookie party?" I suggested, even though I knew everyone was going to criticise for such a brilliant idea.

"No Stan, you have to learn that nobody does these faggotry but you. From now on, we won't be taking any advices from fags. Right, Kenny?" Cartman said, attempting to be inconvenient when deep down he knew that nobody was paying attention to his insults.

"Spoke the man who used to play with plush dolls until the age of 10." Kenny whispered to me.

We then walked to Butters's house, as I let the bunny go back to its hole in the cold woods of the Rocky Mountains. He had his head down over the window of his room when we got there, which reminded of a scene from that Robert Pattison movie about Salvador Dali. I started to laugh for no reason.

"This is lame as fuck!" I explained later, so they wouldn't think I was going insane or anything like that.

"You shouldn't be here fellows." Butters said as he noticed our presence. "My parents won't like it."

"Dude! I finally got pissed. "You can smoke, you can drive, you can fuck around without anyone telling ou what to do, but you can tell your parents to fuck off and stop treating you like a baby!" However it only made it worse.

"But if I do that stuff I'll be grounded, Stan!"

Is there any hope for that kid? I thought. Probably not, but I couldn't deny that was funny as hell, too funny to even feel bad about it.

"Butters, stop being such a pussy or you'll become like Stan!" Cartman shouted and I pretended not to hear. Butters, however, once again had one of his moments of rationality and was finally getting really tired of Cartman's bullshit.

"And what does getting grounded have to do with one's sexuality, Eric?! You don't know the parents I have, because your mom gives you everything you want, that is, except friends, because you're too much of an asshole to have it! Besides, what's the matter with Stan being gay? At least he has somebody to love!"

Butters closed his window, while Queen's "Somebody to Love" played inside my head. That was probably the only band my dad and I had in common, which for a moment, made me feel bad for breaking his Beatles' LP, something I wouldn't even remember if Kyle's mom hadn't told me when I asked why I had left home that same morning. I really liked what Butters said though, especially the part about me.

Cartman, as usual, called him a fag and we moved on to Kenny's house, 'cause his weed was over. That wasn't really his house though. He lived with some drug-dealer friends of his since the day his parents kicked him out, and that was basically the reason why Cartman and I didn't come in. Still, for different motivations. I don't hate poor people as he does, I mean, I'm studying to be a social worker, which means I wanna help them instead. But Kenny's friends weren't ordinary poor people. Coming in there was basically suicide, and I still had too much to live.

"Hey, Stan." Cartman called me. "I bet 50 bucks you can't come in there and tell these poor fuckers you're cop."

Is he retarded or something? I thought. "I don't need 50 bucks, if you wanna see that happen then go inside yourself." I answered simply. "Besides not having the balls to do, you don't even have that money. That wouldn't happen anyway."

"I have the balls alright? You fucking alcoholic queer! I just won't get inside poor people's house, that's all! You can bet I have a lot more money than you do, because unlike your parents, my mom cares about me and gives me money all the time."

What a waste of time continuing that discussion it would be, especially because the money he was so proud of probably came from his mom's fucks. I sometimes wonder what would it be like if she was Craig's mom instead. I mean, it would be like a mother-and-son prostitution service, and if someone asked him about his profession he would simply answer "it's a family business." But since Cartman claims she's "homophobic" that would be unlikely to happen, although I knew it was only an excuse for his own intolerant behaviour.

We heard some shotings, but Kenny came out intacted. Somehow, I felt that something was missing, although I couldn't explain what it really was.

"Dude got mad 'cause I stole his joint. Too high to hit the target though." He said all gasping and sighing, like if that was the most natural thing in the world. He was probably used to it, I guess.

"Shall we go?" I told them. "Perhaps we could practise a little, after all, the game is just a few weeks ahead."

"Oh you know I'd love to, Stan, but I think Kenny's poorness gave me cancer. Sorry, but I don't think I'll survive this one." Yes, that was Cartman's excuse. I honestly didn't want to take Kyle's place regarding their fightings because that always pissed me off, but he was really acting like a fucking fat-ass.

"You know what, dude?" I said, trying my best to stay calm. "You won't be playing on the first time, because I'm here to win! Everybody needs to see the terrific quarterback I am, and your fatness may overshadow it. Butters will play your position on the first half of the game and it's law."

He would call me a stupid fag and stuff like that, but the thought of being the best quarterback in Colorado was bigger than his insults. Perhaps this way, my dad would forgive me for breaking his LP from the 1960's. Later I came to think about that, and if anyone slightly touch my Gaga CD's, I'd be as mad as he was on that moment. Well, he compared me to Craig Tucker though, I shouldn't feel bad for it.

"Why are you even here, Stan?" Cartman wouldn't give up. "Nobody likes you, it would be better off for everyone if you were getting fucked by your Jew boyfriend in that gay-ass city instead of acting like a little whiny bitch here!"

He was right for the wrong reasons. I wanted to be getting fucked by Kyle in New York more than anything in the world, but just as everybody else, I knew that I had to wait a bit more for this encounter to happen.

"Fuck it." I sighed. "If you don't wanna practise football we can play soccer or basketball instead. But in this case, we'll need more people."

"Clyde, Craig and these people, you mean?" Cartman asked.

"No, Craig is dead. I mean our team."

Kenny finished rolling his joint and said that Craig wasn't dead, which I unfortunately knew to be true. I only said that because I really wanted it to happen.

"He's just moved away for hustling somewhere else, but don't ask me where because we were both too fucking high when he told me that."

"Ask Tweek then, he's Craig's other boyfriend when you're not around, Kenny." Cartman suggested in a very predictable way. Kenny usually wasn't bothered by Cartman's stupid jokes, but for some reason, he really hated Tweek. I couldn't tell if that was because we replaced him as a friend back when we were kids, or if it all that hatred lied behind some deep and dark secret issue he had against that schizophrenic kid.

"You ask." He replied with a serious expression. "I don't talk to crazy people."

"Me neither, what if it's contagious?" By saying that, Cartman was forgetting the fact thet he was a homicidal-maniac psychopath himself and even Tweek was less dangerous than him. I told him that, which surprisingly resulted in a classic "shut up you nosy faggot."

"Does anybody volunteer to go back to Butters's house and convince him to break his parents' law?" Although everybody knew it would be Kenny.

"Dude, I don't even understand what you're saying anymore. If I go and talk to Butters, his parents will naturally call the police due to my state and I'm going to jail again."

"Does his parents even know what weed looks like?" I told him. "Don't worry Kenny, everybody loves you, except Cartman, but you already know that the only thing he loves but himself is food."

Kenny wasn't in the position for disagreeing about anything. He left without hesitation, while I told Cartman for us to find a court that wasn't frozen. Kyle still hadn't texted me back, and although I knew the reason for taking so long was because he was probably having classes, it wouldn't be a hard task to at least tell me he was alive and full of love to give me. I wrote him that we were playing basketball and I would do it as if he was there with us.

"You know you're going to hell, right Stan?" Once again, I tried to ignore. "First for being a faggot, second for dating a Jew. You should start to worry about that."

"Right, I hope this is the last time I'll have to say this." I calmingly answered. "Why do you hang out with us if you hate gay people and Jews? And another thing, if loving Kyle and being myself implies on going to hell, that's where I want to be! Seriously, if this hell you insist on mentioning is full of gay people then it must be a fabulous place!"

That wasn't enough for Cartman, it never really is. We've been saying that for years, and his little intolerant brain will never be able to change. He deserves to spend the rest of his miserable life in jail with a 6-feet-tall black cell-mate.

"Right. Do you have a ball?" I changed the subject before he would start to insult me again.

"No Stan, I have two. Clyde though…"

I seriously wonder if there's a single and remote place on this planet where people still find this joke funny. Probably not, but Cartman doesn't live in this planet, but in somewhere across the universe where murder is legal and fat people are cool.

"Nevermind, I'll ask someone else."

Kenny returned with a totally frightened Butters. We assured him we'd help if his parents tried to ground him again, although I really wouldn't. It wasn't my problem, you know? I never let my parents tell me what to do, he should learn to do the same. Afterwards, we called the other guys. Everybody came, except for Clyde because according to Butters he was in one of those Caribbean countries from that Beach Boys song. In the end, we were shamefully defeated because Token was on the opposite team, and that was basically like 4th graders playing against the Nuggets. Besides, I had to drink so badly my hands were shaking, making it hard to even hold the ball properly. There was still some beer left on Kyle's fridge, maybe I could have a bottle and everything would be alright. I mean, I had 2 months to get sober, it didn't have to be immediately, right? I said my goodbyes and the next thing I remember was PETA calling me the next morning for a reunion at Denver's headbase. Even though I had the power to refuse, I didn't. I was there 20 minutes after the phone call, although the hangover exploded inside my head. That was because that organisation needed me more than anything, ever since its end due to the Puffy Daddy incident. I decided to rebuild it myself, with different ideals, making it a real animal activist organisation, not a zoophilic alternative society freakshow, whose only achievement was throwing red paint on me. Now things worked my way, and that implied breaking into slaughterhouses at night and hostaging hunters until they learned to never touch an animal again. Many people left the group after I was named president, claiming that was too radical and I was acting like a terrorist. Nothing I hadn't been through at the Sea Shepherd, and I was truly satisfied when those people left. You see, fighting for a cause implies terrorism, after all, you can't beat violent without violence, and only the strong and determinate people were able to handle it. For this reason, I didn't need cowards on my organisation. Especially on a moment like that, when we would be protesting against the hunting season on South Park, and my uncle Jimbo was one of the hunters involved. I knew it would be a challenge, since my battle against his bloody weekends had been going for many years. He wouldn't change his mind that easily, but neither would I. We followed to the mountains, the same place where Cartman once found that "leprechaun." We took our weapons, in case they tried to shoot an animal we'd shoot them first. No, we wouldn't kill them, it was only paintball… For now. Those rednecks, however, weren't carrying paintball guns, so we'd had to be careful.

"Here's the plan." I told them. "As soon as we see those guys, we're forming a frontline, precluding them to take any step farther. I'll shoot the ground with a real gun first, and if they keep acting as uncivilised rednecks, which will obviously happen, we'll paintball their uglyass faces with no mercy. Understood?"

"What if they shoot us with their real guns first?" A guy named Bob asked, even though he knew we were all wearing bulletproof vests. Since I wasn't in the mood for such stupidity, I simply stared with a "seriously, dude?" face.

I saw my uncle's truck parked at the woods entry. They weren't far from there, therefore we should run if we wanted to stop any mass murder from happening. I was the only one to carry a real gun, so there was no way to split and look for them, otherwise our plan would be in vain. However, we soon heard a shot, which immediately led us to the hunters, but still made me feel incredibly miserable and frustrated for failing at the main point of that mission.

"Oh, not again, Stanley!" Uncle Jimbo said, followed by some rednecks telling him to "shoot those fags".

"Did you see the size of that moose? I'm sorry Stanley, but I won't let you and your ecologist friends ruin this season's hunt!"

"Consider this to be the last murder of your life, uncle Jimbo." I replied. "After we get your weapons, you're all having a date with our dear friend, the forest guard."

They wouldn't surrender that easily, though. They never do, and we were prepare to fight that with all of our strength.

"For the last time, faggots." That Skeeter guy insisted. "The forest guard won't listen to a bunch of cocksucking hippies like yourselves. He doesn't even know there's people hunting on this area!"

Another guy told us if we wanted to get their weapons, we would have to kill them first. I think that was Kenny's dad, but really, they looked all the same to me. I put an end to that shit and shot the ground just as planned. They immediately started to laugh at my face.

"Don't you think we can?" I told them in my best Taxi Driver atmosphere. "Put the weapons down and surrender to the florestal guard or I'll shot you."

Still, uncle Jimbo wouldn't get intimidated. "Does your father know about that gun, Stanley?"

"Careful son, that's not the type of gun you're used to hold." And as that random redneck dared to say those mean words, my patience was over. Fuck the paintball, I shoot that guy's arm and didn't feel the least regret for it. Uncle Jimbo didn't let him shot me back and said he would be telling my father about it. I, however, wasn't giving a single fuck about his threatens, as the feeling of finally doing something in my defense filled my vegetarian heart with pride. We helped each other and took the poor moose's inert body to the forest guard's attention, taking a step farther on putting these assassins in jail for illegal activities. The only reason why they were still free is because nobody had enough evidences to prove they were in fact the hunters who killed those animals. But none of that would be staying like that, after all, it was about time for at least one good thing happen in my miserable life.

I went back to Kyle's house later that day, otherwise I'd end up drinking again. His parents were mad at me because of last night's drinking, but I wouldn't dare arguing with my parents-in-law for such a futile reason. I tried to compensate on it by helping Mrs. Broflovski with dinner, and everything was doing just as fine until someone knocked at the door. For some reason, I felt there was problem coming, and I'm almost never wrong.

"Hey Sheila, can I please talk to Stan?" I heard my dad's voice and he seemed pissed as fuck.

"Of course Randy, he's in the kitchen." And as Kyle's mom said those words, I left it in the speed of light and ran straight to upstairs, but he wouldn't let me sneak out that easily.

"Oh, you stop right there, young man!" He said. "You broke my Sgt. Pepper LP, the one I bought in 1967 when I was in San Francisco and George autographed it for me! You disrespected your mom and are drinking illegally and we forgave you for all of those things, but now you've gone off limits, Stanley!"

I obviously knew that uncle Jimbo had told him about that afternoon's events, even so, I pretended not to. I just couldn't let him embarrass me in front of Kyle's parents, since both of them were disappointed at me due to my previous mistakes.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said, staring at the menorah beside their sofa. Only then I realised the peculiar shape of that thing and how unique it was. I mean, I could literally visualise every single Hanukkah that Kyle and I had spent together in there, and knowing that we wouldn't be able to do it that year was too painful to imagine.

"You could have killed that guy, Stanley!" He continued, just as my daydream was over. "You're giving me that gun right now and we're going home, where you're gonna be grounded just like when you were 10."

Kyle's parents were obviously astonished to hear that story, which was obviously perverted by my dad, who made me look like a rebel alcoholic teenager.

"I don't have any gun, that's all bullshit." I kept explaining. "You know these rednecks are always shooting each other for no reason, besides that uncle Jimbo and his friends are intolerant homophobic animal killers who are just trying to make you hate me too."

I wasn't worried he would search all over my stuff. Every single weapon was locked and safe at the headbase in Denver. Nobody had proves it was me who had shot that guy.

"We're going home, Stanley." He said once again. "Get your stuff."

But my beloved parents-in-law wouldn't tolerate the fact that there were homophobic rednecks conspirating against me. They simply wouldn't let my dad take me away like that.

"He's legal already, Randy." Kyle's dad told him. "Therefore he can decide what he wants for himself, and if you're taking him home to go through any kind of discrimination from your brother and his uncilivised friends, you can just let Stan here until he and Kyle graduate and get married."

I just loved hearing all that. Imagining this day coming was the reason I was still alive. I felt an unexplainable joy everytime I thought about Kyle breaking the glass and the rabbi wishing us "mazel tov!" I could clearly hear our family and friends singing one of those Hebrew songs which I'll never learn how to pronounce, while they'd lift the chairs. At that point, I wasn't even paying attention to our parents fighting anymore. Everything was too beautiful inside my head to be ruined by something like that. In the end, my dad gave up, because that was what the rage management group taught him to do when things get extreme. He told me to take care and stop drinking before leaving the Broflovski house. I then closed my eyes and pretended none of that had happened, 'cause on that moment, there was nothing else I wanted to think about but my love for Kyle.


	6. Craig Tucker II

Life sucks, doesn't it? Especially when you're a homeless 19-year-old male prostitute. I don't think my parents would have supported me anyway, considering the close-minded rednecks they are. Still, I don't think that was the right time to tell them the truth.

I knew I was queer since 3rd grade's first sex ed. class ever. The thought of having my dick inside some bitch's pussy was too fucking grotesque to bare, you know? I mean, it's normal for every 8-year-old boy to despise girls in any form, except when you're attracted by other boys as I was. Kenny was my first crush ever, only he was too straight to ever return my jerk-offs. I really rather not to talk about Tweek right now, but the point is that I've always knew I was different, and as I grew older and learned more about sex, it became my speciality. I started to hustle at the age of 15, when my friend Annie Faulk said I should be making some money out of that whole sex obsession. She obviously regret saying so after I took it seriously to the point of making prostitution my life career.

My parents never suspected anything, since I've always tried to keep a "straight" position in front of them, although I'll never find out how my dad never knew that the real reason why I watched MMA fights wasn't for the punching and kicking. Well, he probably did when I came out, but we'll get there, I fucked up too much before they found out I like to fudge pack.

South Park soon became too small for my appetite, so I started to work at a club in Denver. I was already a costumer of Luxury ever since Stan and Kyle introduced me to that club, although I was never pleased to hang out with them due to their lameness. I mean, the only thing worse than heterosexuals are monogamous fags. I was far from being like them though, as every guy in town would fuck me for free, however, I hold the responsibility to stabilise a price for my ass. But things would soon cease to be nights of unprotected sex and crystal meth, just after my mom found my dildo collection along with my porn mags. Now it was clear I just couldn't hide it anymore and told their Republican conservative faces that I was a fag who likes dick, to suck them and get sucked back. Oh, and that I was really good at it too. They kicked me out home immediately, but perhaps I should put it in my father words: "I don't care where you're living, how you're living, or IF you're living, but don't you ever dare returning to this house!"

"So that's it, dad. You're kicking out your son for being who he is?" I asked simply, which was worthless, as he told me "a faggot is no son of mine." With my mom's crying as a background soundtrack.

I grabbed my stuff and went straight to Clyde's backyard. I slept on his pool chair and the morning after was awaken by a bucket of ice-cold water. He thought I was drunk or something, but after clearing things up and crying my heart out, his dad let me keep his sister's old room, as long as I didn't bring guys over, a promise I crossed my fingers when agreed. After all the parties I threw and the scent my cigarettes impregnated every room in that house, they kicked me out as well, which wasn't such a big deal, since I was leaving that shithole town anyway. I bought a ticket to New York with the intent of making more money and fucking hotter guys. It happens that things were nothing like I expected. Life in a big city is hard, and not in a good meaning of that word. I mean, my clients were still bald fat and old closeted homosexuals, but my biggest problem was life itself though. Everything was expensive, so I had to get a another job at a record store. It was less dangerous than my night profession, but that was until this disturbingly familiar face came in looking for a Matisyahu DVD. He was considerably tall, had a terribly looking red jewfro and an unshaven beard, making him look like one of those cool modern hipsters. That nose, however, wouldn't fool me. Only Kyle Broflovski had a nose so big you can notice from the other side of the street. That whole situation wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't recognised me in return.

"You're on the wrong department." I said. "DVD's are upstairs."

He wasn't looking at me until I said anything, but my voice is too sexy not to be noticed by any regular client, and Kyle would soon recognise a familiar tune on it.

"Wait a sec." He stared and finally gave me the surprised look I was waiting for. "It can't be!"

I kept pretending not to know him and turned back to the cash.

"What the hell are you doing in New York, Craig?" He insisted and came after me with some hip-hop crap on his hands.

"Working, can't you see? And shh! Don't tell me, you're here studying to be a doctor, or a banker!" I replied as sarcastically as I could.

"Lawyer, actually. What happened to you, dude? Stan said you vanished from the face of the Earth!" Yeah, I forgot that one. After all, the world surely needs more Jewish lawyers, am I right?

"You and your boyfriend should mind your own boring business." I was in a good mood and kept replying until he would finally leave, but getting rid of that sneaky little Jew, as Cartman would say, was harder than I thought. I personally had nothing against Kyle, it was just awkward to face someone from South Park after all the shit that little piece of crap of a town has brought to me, especially with the subject he choose for our "hey, it's been a long time!" conversation.

"So, Stan heard Clyde saying that Tweek needs you at the hospital. Is everything okay with him?" As he said so, something inside me burnt like an electric shock of concern, but I wouldn't let Kyle know that, since he was one of the several people who knew who I truly felt about Tweek, thanks to Clyde's big fat mouth, plus enough amounts of alcohol to make me spill all the deep shit inside of me.

"Clyde probably knows then, you should ask him instead." I replied, as if I wasn't giving a single fuck about that.

"Well, I don't know, Stan didn't give much details, all I know is that Tweek is really out of his mind, not taking his meds and so."

By that I knew that Kyle could only have been sent straight from hell to ruin my day.

"How is he not taking his meds in a goddamn mental hospital, smartass?!" I raised my voice. "Whenever he refuses to do so, they tie him up and inject it. I've done it myself, countless times, and know how the shit works, so don't from out of nowhere, making up that stuff just to worry me to death so I can go back to South Park to take care of him!"

After the obligatory awkward silence, he finally said something in return.

"Dude, you really are worried, aren't you? Why don't you just say it, I won't make fun of you just because the mighty and handsome Craig felt for the loony boy in town."

He was really asking for it, so I finally stop pretending.

"Okay Kyle, you won. What do you want me to do, marry him and become his personal nurse for the rest of our lives? The problem isn't his mental illness, but the whole idea of falling in love with someone itself!"

Kyle once again gave me one of his notorious moral lessons, and I kept listening until some kid asked me where the new One Direction album was located.

"Isn't Niall Horan the hottest fucker you've ever jerked off to?" I changed the subject and the kid ran off scared.

"Not really." Kyle replied. "I'm not into blonds, also he looks like he's 12 or something."

Obviously I wouldn't listen to someone who dates the same guy for 7 years, especially if that guy is your best friend since birth and acts like a whining bitch all the freaking time as Stan does. I laughed, but at the same time felt sorry for that poor soul with bad taste in men.

"I gotta work, Twinkerbell. If you buy me a drink we can chat some other time, k'?" I told him and handed the One Direction CD to the little girl who probably thought I was some kind of sick perverted. Kyle said we should hang out some time and gave me his apartment address.

"I ain't fucking you unless you pay me for it, Broflovski!" I yelled as he left the store and everybody stared at me, including a pissed boss who was just about to fire this sassy faggot.

Later that day, when heading to my night job, I decided to check out if Kyle's place was as miserable as mine, something I'd deeply regret cogitating as soon as I laid my eyes over the most expensive building in New York City.

"r u fukin kddin me bitch?" I texted him immediately and continued walking to my destiny, which was the hustling bar. That place was full of old and fat guys, and I was only hoping for their wallets to be as heavy as their weight. It was around 6 pm and the sky was getting darker as my cigarette's smoke merged to that bar's rotten atmosphere. I looked around, like someone who doesn't give a fuck about life, until some creepy perv approached and cut my bad boy look away. He seemed rich though, so I tried to ignore his psychopathic stare and went for it without thinking twice. Not that I wasn't afraid he was some kind of Jeffrey Dahmer or whatever, but we're talking about money here, security comes after it.

"You wanna go to my place?" His deep and emotionless voice told me. "I pay you $100 and no less than that."

Obviously I wouldn't refuse such easy money and followed him to a dark and ancient building. We walked up to apartment 312 and both kept quite for a while.

"I have a picture of a very attractive Puerto Rican, you wanna see it?" and that was the creepy question which broke the silence.

"Uhm, later maybe?" I answered, a bit disturbed in the inside. That creepy silence, however, only made things worse. All we could hear was the sound of a 70's psychedelic lamp, bubbling as the soundtrack of a horror movie. But nothing of that would compare to the rotten smell of his place. It was like spoiled food from a thousand years ago, but worse. That's when I noticed a knife covered in blood laying over the couch and everything went crystal clear. I had to get the fuck out of there before he ate me for dinner.

"How... How is that picture of the Puerto Rican again?" I asked, trying to get that encounter as far as possible from intimacy. But his expression immediately switched from a serene apathy to pure raging anger. He jumped over me on the couch and ripped off my shirt.

"Your skin feels like butter." He whispered, stroking my back slowly.

That was enough, I had to escape from that maniac. He was strong as fuck, but I managed to kick him in the balls and run the fuck out of that slaughterhouse. I called Kyle's number and asked him to come and pick me up.

"I don't have a car, dude. Only my cousin has the key to his vehicles in the garage. Besides, I'm watching the Cows game against Denver. I can't miss Stan's touchdown. I'm sending a cab on my cousin's name, okay?" He answered and I could clearly notice his distraction by his voice.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that, Broflovski?!" I yelled, still sobbing. "Just call it for once and I'll tell you what happened."

As soon as the cab left me at Kyle's cousin Kyle apartment, or maybe we should call it a mansion, I told him all about my "serial killer survivor" experience. He didn't pay much attention though. Apparently he was too distracted by Stan's ass on the TV screen. I, on the other hand, almost forgot that a few minutes ago I was in the hands of a possible psychopath. You can blame Kenny's tight football pants for that.

"You want some bagels?" He spontaneously offered. "Get whatever you'd like,, after all you must be feeling tense after that thing you told me."

"That thing I told you, Kyle?!" I replied in a very ironic way. "So, I was nearly raped, could have possibly been killed afterwards and all you can remember is that I told you a thing?! Okay, let's just watch this goddamn game."

After Stan's "glorious" touchdown and Kyle's overreaction about it, I asked him to spend the night there, as I wouldn't dare coming out at night for at least a billion years. He agreed, but again, he wasn't paying attention to anything else in the world but his beloved quarterback. After the fuss, he led me to the room I was going to sleep in, and honestly, I wasn't interested on ever leaving that magnificent king-sized bed. He called Stan on the phone and I could hear the entire cheesy conversation these monogamous fags were having. I smoked all the meth left and tried to forget all about that horrible day. Still, it was inevitable to hear Kyle moaning over the phone in the other room. And just between us, he moans like a girl. A very, very naughty little girl.


	7. Kyle Broflovski II

The time had finally came. It was November 30th and my baby was already taking the flight to New York City. I took the longest bath of my life, put on a long brown coat and a green scarf I had bought just the day before and hide my horrific hair under that gorgeous rabbit fur ushanka, which made me spend an entire month of economies.

Stan texted me for the last time that day and I went straight to the airport. I kept waiting for him during the entire day. When my concern couldn't get any worse, that voicing lady announced that the flight from Denver had just arrived. I ran to the sits and pretended not to be paranoid over his arrival. I recognise his puffy blue beanie coming through the hall and couldn't help it. I ran to his arms and dropped his entire luggage. Stan kissed me like never before, and his warm tongue felt like the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.

"Please, tell me Craig isn't there anymore, 'cause I want to make love to you all night long!" He whispered in my ear, giving me a chill that ran down my spine.

"He's working, don't mind that junkie bastard." I replied and helped to take his belongings to the cab. On the way to the apartment, we kept making out on the back sits, and we held our hands tight as he put his other hand over my waist and I on his cheeks.

"I missed you so much, zun zun!" That was the cute couple nickname I gave him after watching a kids show with a bee called zun zun who sounded just like Stan. The reason why I decided calling him that way isn't just because it's cute as hell, but it surely fits him as well.

It was snowing when we left the car, which gave us the best and most serene atmosphere once could ask for. Stan put his warm hands around my waist and slowly led them to the inside of my shirt. The more he caressed my lower abdomen, the more my raging boner begged to get some action.

"Let's get inside, baby. It's getting cold." I told him.

"Wait a sec, is that were you're living?!" He stood still astonished.

"Wait until we get inside. Come on, let's go."

As we took the elevator, Stan told me about how things were back in South Park. I wasn't impressed to know Mr. Garrison underwent a surgery to become a walking penis, Cartman was arrested and Kenny made another underage girl pregnant yet. In other words, the same as it has ever been.

"But" I interrupted. "You're still the best quarterback in the whole world, and you're mine!"

He was way too flattered by such words to care about anything else, so I grabbed him as hard as I could. We made out as wetter, deeper and faster than ever, it was like we were doing it for the first time, only hotter, tastier and especially less clumsy that our first kiss. Stan took me in his arms and walked to the apartment's door. He threw me against it, with my legs between his waist, which gave us a hard time to unlock it.

As we managed to get in, he put me down and I took off his white shirt. He did the same to me and opened my zipper, but before pulling down my jeans, I took his hand and we kissed with more passion yet, for two long minutes without interruption.

"Come." Stan whispered in my ear and led us to the room. Well, I actually told him where it was, but the fact that he was impressed by such luxury is irrelevant at that point.

That probably was the biggest room in the apartment. Beside the large windows, giving us a panoramic view of the entire city covered in snow on that beautiful night, the king-sized mattress was cosier than anything Stan had ever experimented. I told him it was like some kind of divine cloud made by angels, but it was more likely that whole thing felt so good because we were together. I kept kissing him and undressing anything he was wearing left.

There was one and only thing on my mind on that moment, and it was Stan. Closing my eyes inside that half-lit room gave me a second of reflexion to think about how long we've been together and all the shit we went through so far. It wasn't just the physical attraction that kept us together, or sex for that matter, but because we truly loved each other. Stan isn't just my partner, my reason to exist, or my boyfriend. He's my super best friend.

I sat by his side on the bed, with my open zipper and messy red-hair showing its true colours. I stroked it to the back and stopped Stan from kissing me back.

"Is there a problem, baby?" He asked, surprised due to such a sudden intermission.

I got closer to his face and we stared at each other for seconds that seemed like an eternity.

"I love you." I said, at last. Stan smiled sweetly and told me the same, but once again, I interrupted him, this time stroking his cheeks tenderly.

"No." I said, staring fixedly into this deep blue eyes. "I love you. I love you a million times, I love you more than the meaning of the word_ love_ itself. You're all I want and need, Stan."

He hugged me as tightly as possible after a few seconds of silence and simply whispered: "You don't know how much I missed you!"

Stan touched my face and finally kissed me back, in a way I could feel the tip of his tongue down my throat. I got on top of him and, at last, got rid of those goddamn pants. His boner was so evident under his black boxers I just couldn't help it and started to stroke it carefully, which was enough to make Stan moan sweetly, but still too lowly to satisfy me. I slowly led my two hands inside his underwear, through the sides of it. Stan shuddered as he felt my warm hands on his foreskin, going up and down slowly, which went on for a few minutes until he undressed himself by complete.

Stan stood up and pulled down my pants while kissing my chest.

"Fuck..." I moaned, biting my lips each time harder as he got lower down my body. He was about to pull down my boxers, since my erection burnt hot as fire through that expensive and smooth Calvin Klein cloth, but as he said "not yet", I realised he had something else in mind.

"Lay down, baby."

"Uhm... Like this?" I asked, managing to stay in the position he required me to.

"No." He replied giggling as cutely as I've ever seen. "The other way round."

I lied over my chest. On such a position, I knew that whatever Stan had in mind, I would love it. He got up the bed though, and returned as fast as he had left.

"What's in there for me?" I asked in an attempt to sound sexy, which obviously wouldn't work considering my terrible tendency to sound like a horny teenage girl.

"You'll see it. Better, feel it." He answered and sat on my legs. I moaned wonderfully loud as he dropped that cold liquid on my back, which only got louder as Stan started to massage my shoulders with it. That thing heated up fast as he his fingers ran down my back, slowly getting to the bottom. I groaned and sighed when he touched my waist, which I have to admit, is one of the most sensitive regions of my body, and Stan knew it than myself. Perhaps that's why he always gave such special attention to that part.

"Oh dear G'd, please don't stop!" I begged him. It happens that I still wore my boxers, and it was making me a bit more anxious than the usual. Stan quickly got rid of it and didn't take long to go straight to my biggest turn on ever, which was rimming. As soon as he started to lick my hole, I couldn't hold moaning any controllably anymore.

"You like it?" He asked and I yelled a simple "fuck yes!" that motivated Stan to immediately get back to work. He, however, didn't want me to come yet, and quit it to soon start to kiss my neck and shoulders for a few seconds, until he asked me to turn around. We kissed for a long time and Stan finally grabbed my cock, making it difficult for me not to groan loud as we made out. After that long-lasting handjob and a very appreciated blowjob, he couldn't risk it anymore. I was almost shooting the load, besides, it was enough foreplay for a night, my ass was begging to be hardcore barebacked by my beloved Stan.

I sat on his lap, looking deep into his eyes. Before applying some lube on, I realised that position was asking for frot, and I was the one who know how to really show Stan the meaning of frotting. That felt like the best thing in the world, beyond the meaning of _best_ actually, it was more like indescribable.

Stan looked back at me and moaned the truest "I love you" ever said in history. We made out again, as deeply as possible, this way I'd be prepared for something way deeper when he took the lube on his hands. Stan applied it on me and we switched to missionary. He penetrated me slowly and I grabbed his back, almost scratching it. Luckily, my nails were always very well done, otherwise it would have hurt as hell. Actually no, that was too divine to even hurt, I mean, the way I moaned wasn't enough to describe how wonderfully good it felt. Stan went faster, stronger and deeper, always holding my legs over his shoulders. He just loved that sensation, having my legs rubbing against his shoulders and knowing that I just couldn't stop the sexual excitement over my body was a fact that always led Stan to an impressive orgasm, which he had, but not impressive enough as our last Hanukkah party, when I forgot to take my yarmulke off. Apparently that turns him on for an unknown reason.

I came much earlier though, a few movements of Stan's penis on my prostate were enough to fill my boyfriend's chest with an absurd amount of my kosher semen.

"Well.." He said, barely breathing. "I'd like to mention it compensate way more than the time we had to wait for it!"

I couldn't speak much either, so I simply kissed him and whispered "you made it happen, baby."

I was never the kind of guy who sleeps after sex, on the contrary, I'm usually paranoid over taking a hot shower after it, even if tiredness is consuming my body. This time, however, I just wanted to lay down and fall asleep on Stan's arms. He was equally tired, perhaps even more due to such a long trip, so we spooned, held each other's hands and felt asleep in a blink of an eye. The next morning would bring us all kinds of surprises, so we had no choice but enjoying that moment of serenity and deep connection until the sun would rise up again.


End file.
